Author's Notes: I'd just like to say here that Luo Glaon isn't an original character – I did my research, and he is indeed one of the five Great Sages. Kara, however, is my own creation. Luo needed a wife, after all. :)
Also...I hate this site. The document manager sucks. I took the time to unclump all the paragraphs and sort out the italicized words...but if I missed a couple mistakes, I am sorry. Anyone know how to prevent this from happening in the future?
Summary: After living in seclusion for nearly three years, the only thing that Zelgadis wants is to continue his life in such solitude. But the nightmares that have been plaguing him for months became too painful to ignore, and he finds himself traveling the familiar path to Seyruun once again...
Chapter Two
'distanced'
Why's what's best for you
Always the worst thing for me?
Nickelback
- -
The vortex was a never-ending array of bright colors against a dark backdrop, a void with puffs of mist that stretched out into eternity in shapes of spirals and cyclones. It was like a shimmering painting, always shifting and changing, hypnotic and breathtakingly magnificent. One would never expect it to house such a great evil.
He stepped into the swirls of colors, let the bright energy swath his form and consume his every sense. He lost himself within the abyss of power, relished in the feeling of pure and beautiful Chaos feasting on his body. It tore at his mind and blindingly invaded his sight, flashing a vivid image through his head in dazzling pain; a scene that portrayed a stunning young woman obliviously dancing away at a gala, twirling with her partner to music only those in the room could hear. She dipped and spun and laughed, knowing nothing about the dark force that scrutinized her from afar, knowing nothing about her destiny with him. Chaos put him so close that he could almost reach out and touch her smiling image, teasing his desire for her.
He laughed when agony flared through his skull again as another illusion exploded in his mind, only this time he saw a man on a horse, trotting closer and closer to where the girl was. Far too close for comfort, and Chaos was never wrong.
"Kreoss."
His servant knelt behind him, head bowed with an arm across his chest in a proper salute. "I'm here."
"Come closer."
His heart raced with adrenaline, as it always had in Chaos' presence, and he slowly stood and approached his master. Coming close to Chaos would turn even the strongest human mad; they would be plagued with an assault of horrifying, bloody images of grisly death and twisted corpses. Excruciating sensations of torture and anguish would burn them from the inside until it made them wretch and vomit. And the absolute emotions of panic, terror, and depression would squeeze their heart in permanence.
But Kreoss was far from human, and he had turned mad long ago.
He stared straight into the mesmerizing colorful vortex without fear, was close to losing himself in it too until his master emerged, a sphere of energy hovering above an outstretched palm. "Look," he commanded, showing his servant what Chaos had so generously given to him.
Kreoss stared longingly at the swirling mass of colors, felt the hunger for it tug on his mind in greed. He wanted to give into it, let Chaos take him over, but his master always forbade him; he wasn't ready yet, his master would say. Not until their ranks were complete. And Kreoss understood, because as much as he wished to be one with Chaos, he wanted her even more. So he resisted the temptation to let it absorb him and leaned in closer to the picture it displayed.
His brows furrowed in concentration and then rose in surprise. "Zelgadis?" he whispered wonderingly to himself.
"You know him?"
Kreoss's eyes immediately narrowed, and he promptly looked away. "Yes," he murmured.
"I do not know how, but he has picked up on my plans. There is no room for his interference."
"You wish for me to dispose of him?" His cool voice was oddly neutral, controlled. But Kreoss knew it was only because his rage was simply beyond being portrayed through his tone.
His master's hand snapped into a fist with sheer ferocity, the energy dispersing back into the void in smoky spirals. "Time is of utter importance. Do not fail me," his voice rumbled.
A gateway suddenly appeared ahead of them, and Kreoss took that as his cue to leave. "As you wish, my lord," he assured, stepping ahead toward the portal. And while he felt the familiar hurt and loss of being torn away from Chaos, he did not look back. He needed to fulfill an even greater purpose, he mused with a potent yearning. He needed her.
The superior being returned to his studying of the multidimensional colors. His free hand lightly glided over the shimmering surface, fingers skimming along the brilliant haze as fragments of the illusion broke through to his mind's eye again, of the girl with eyes the color of the ocean and a heart that was just as deep.
"Dress warm, Princess. I wouldn't want you getting sick."
- -
The air was thick with mixed scents of powders and perfumes, the sweet aroma curling tenaciously below my nostrils. My stomach churned feverishly, and I could feel the bitter taste of vomit scorch my throat. I braced myself against the smooth marble post of the grand stairway.
"Amelia! Are you all right?" I glanced up at my father, instantly blinded by the blazing torchlight reflected off of his glittering crown. I clenched my eyes shut and gripped the post tighter as another surge of nausea flooded my stomach.
No, I wasn't all right. Something was wrong – very wrong. I could feel it rattling in my bones, quaking in my righteous heart; an intense anxiety that swathed me inside and out. I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe. I needed to escape.
I felt my father's heavy hand settle on my forehead, the cool silk of his bulbous sleeve lightly tickling my face. "You're quite warm," he stated worriedly. Gazing at him through my tear-soaked eyelashes, I could see threads of concern woven into the tiny wrinkles that framed his eyes and mouth.
"I'm fine, Daddy," I choked out, trying to muster a smile. "It's just awfully stuffy and warm in here." My eyes scanned over the opulent ballroom, observing the dancing royals and chortling nobles. Thankfully, no one seemed to be noticing my little episode.
"Why don't you step out onto the veranda for some fresh air?" Daddy suggested kindly, now adjusting the diamond-encrusted tiara perched upon my head.
"No…no, I think I'd rather just retire for the evening," I said weakly.
Disapproval flashed through Daddy's eyes, but he nodded, albeit desolately. "Of course, if you're not feeling well," he allowed. "But Amelia, these sovereigns and noblemen have come to see you. They'll be disappointed upon notice of your departure…"
I smiled apologetically, one foot already on the bottom stair. "All is well, Daddy. At any rate, I'm not that good of company when ill."
Daddy sighed and nodded again, smiling understandingly. "All right, then."
I hugged him thankfully and began my trek up the colossal staircase. The heels of my silver slippers sunk into the plush red carpet that trailed each step, and I was tempted to collapse right there on that haven of crimson velvet.
I gripped the varnished banister resolutely and continued ascending. I was merely paranoid. This nausea could only be a simple bug. Nothing is going to happen.
Nothing is going to happen…
- -
Amelia kept repeating the mantra to herself as she continued on the way to her bedroom, feeling her body weaken by the second. It was as if her very life-force dissolved with every step she took, and she was forced to lean heavily against the wall in order to stay upright. Closer and closer she came to her sanctuary – past her father's chambers, past a statue of the legendary Flare Dragon Ceipheid, past her sister's abandoned bedroom, and finally, when she thought she couldn't stay on her own two feet any longer, she arrived at the cherry wood door with the words 'Princess Amelia' carved into it's glossy surface, and feebly pushed it open.
Her four-poster canopy bed had never looked as inviting as it did then. Finely dressed in its soft white linens and satin comforters, it literally shone like a feathery cloud beneath the moonlight that surged through the windows. And with an unceremonious grace that was very unbecoming of a princess, Amelia threw herself onto it. Layers of silk and velvet wrapped awkwardly around her legs, but she was much too exhausted to rearrange the material. She clenched her eyes shut and grit her teeth against another wave of sickness, her fingers snarling themselves within her ebony hair.
Gods, make it stop. She had no choice but to pray to the heavens, for casting a healing spell on her own would have taken even more exertion, and she very much doubted that she would have been able to focus well enough.
Gently pushing herself over onto her back, Amelia hollowly gazed up at the stretch of white that was her canopy. "I want to become a bird," she started to sing softly, her voice horribly breathy and uneven, "and fly in the sky." She bit her lip as her stomach churned again, but forced herself to keep singing. "Searching out a far-off, distant hope…"
Memories of her late mother's beautiful voice flooded her mind, and Amelia continued to sing the melody that the deceased woman had often sung to her whenever the princess had fallen ill. She allowed her eyes to drift close as she imagined herself curled up in her mother's lap, sitting in a rocking chair out in the gazebo while basking in the balmy sunshine. The song had always made her feel better back then, physically or otherwise, and Amelia was hoping for it to still have the same desired effect.
"…If I can search out my tiny self so far below, then even getting hurt, or what will come tomorrow won't scare me." The song over, she slowly opened her eyes and let out a deep, cleansing breath, thankful that the nausea had subsided by a great deal.
Mama…thank you…
Amelia laid there for several more minutes, afraid to move, but eventually coaxed her trembling form into a sitting position. Dizziness still crowded her, but seemingly at a much more tolerable level. Taking this as encouragement, she gingerly slipped off her shoes and pushed her legs over the edge of the bed, and then placed her shaking hands on one of the bedposts for support as she shifted her weight onto her feet.
While the nausea had settled into a minor stomach ache, she still felt horribly weak and was desperate for some fresh air. She clumsily staggered her way to the set of double doors that led to her balcony and hastily threw them open to welcome the late night winds. Her bare feet stepped onto smooth marble, and she walked over to the stone railing and rested her elbows on its surface.
The sky was a canvas of navy hues, housing a full moon that glowed like a silver medallion over the quiet streets of Seyruun. She had an eerie feeling that she was being watched, like she always suspected as of late, but shrugged it off. She figured that most of the commoners were tucked away in their homes by this time of the night, and the majority of the kingdom's nobles were dancing joyously within the castle's ballroom below.
Amelia sighed with that thought, laying her chin in the palm of her hand. There had been so many royal functions as of late, ever since her courtship with Prince Zane of Ralteague had officially come to an end. She wasn't necessarily pressed to find a husband quite yet, but with so many proposals flurrying in every day, she was required to at least give the candidates a chance to present themselves before her. Galas had to be planned, feasts were to be prepared, banquets needed to be organized; the whole process was even more tiresome than facing a dark lord.
The princess had bravely endured it for a full six months after the defeat of Dark Star, adamantly denying every male that fought to win her over. Frustration grew among the council members as well as her own father, but Amelia just couldn't hand her future over to someone else – not without her heart, which she had already given to someone else.
It was a single, short, insensitive letter that had made her change her mind, one that she received when she was the most vulnerable she had ever been in her life. She had no reason to stop the planning of any festivities after that.
Amelia felt the tears well up, and she bowed her head in defeat. They were all good men, but turning a marriage into a business deal just wasn't something she could stomach. And she felt awful for it. She had had the promise of a wonderful future with any of them, a union between kingdoms that people would rejoice in. What kind of unfair person was she to throw away all of that for a man that even she doubted would ever return? How could she disappoint everyone like that? How could she be so selfish?
Her eyes hardened in quiet defiance as the defensive part of her brain kicked in.
How come none of her suitors could have that deep, velvety voice that comforted her nightly within the private confines of her chambers? The silky tone that chased away the raucous whispers that so yearned to haunt her? She had her baggage, her enemies, her demons, things that a pretty and proper princess was not meant to ever be burdened with. And that history, while kept secret to only her and her family, was certainly not suitable for any prince to handle. This, she was sure of.
But perhaps a cursed swordsman, who had been through a lifetime of pain himself, was more appropriate for it.
The princess pushed herself away from the stone railing and headed back into her room, intentionally leaving the balcony doors open. She seated herself before her vanity mirror, removed her tiara and the various ornaments and pins that held her elaborate hairstyle together. Her raven tresses fell loose around her shoulders, now free from their prior restraint, and she then went about the task of removing her make-up.
Amelia crudely gazed at herself in the mirror, nearly ashamed of the weary, defeated image presented before her. Was this all she was underneath the glamour and make-up when times got rough? A broken shell of the vibrant girl she was known to be? She pressed her fingers to her lips then, where the skin around her mouth was smooth and clear – unscarred. Her own healing had made sure of that. But when her hand dropped down to her belly, she grimaced with disdain. There, she would be marked forever. Branded.She looked away in disgust and stood, undoing the clasps of her ball gown. The expensive material pooled around her feet and she stepped away from it, knowing that the maid would hang it up in the morning. She pulled out a short white silk nightgown from her dresser and slipped it over her head, savoring in the feel of its smooth texture against her clammy skin.
Was she crazy to prefer stone instead of silk?
Walking over to her heavenly cloud of a bed, she climbed underneath the covers, rested her back against the headboard. A look of fearful hesitance flitted across her face as she stared dubiously at her nightstand, softly wringing her hands together. After a few more minutes of debate, she reached over and pulled out the drawer, displaying a thick pile of parchments – letters. She bypassed the marriage requests, skipped through the banquet invitations, went beyond the letters from her old traveling companions, and stopped once she got to the last letter of the pile. Her heart beating painfully, she pulled it out and held it to her breast, already having memorized every single word.
Amelia,
I apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I was busy with my search. I won't be able to correspond for a while, but I hope things are going well for you. Please don't worry about me – I will make a trip to Seyruun soon enough.
Zelgadis Greywords
After the pages and pages of letters she had sent him, this was the only thing she had ever gotten in return just days after the search party had uncovered her. And, she noted tearfully, it was only a lie, for he had never once returned to Seyruun. She spitefully tossed the parchment on top of the rest.
Too rattled with emotions to sleep just yet, she pulled out her journal and quill – something she had grown used to doing whenever too many thoughts would clog her brain. Propping the notebook on her lap, she turned to a blank page, and began to transfer her muddled thoughts and turbulent emotions onto paper.
Dear Journal,
Who would've thought that this would have such a huge impact on me? I never imagined it would be this hard. You can lay a situation out before you, detect every single reason why not to feel any pain or loss, but those feelings are just so easily resurrected with a glance at a letter. Isn't that odd, how your mind can be on a completely different page than your heart? Yes, odd – and utterly frustrating. I suppose you can only control what you think, but not how you feel.
I understand why I might have been labeled back then as immature, but I'm nineteen now, an adult. I've seen things, I've been through things. Why do I still feel like I'm being punished, as if I were some misbehaved child? Why am I not even being given a chance? Do I maybe not deserve one? Am I not the right person for him after all?
Do his friends really mean so little to him? Love is one thing, but are personal achievements always going to triumph? Is it wrong to want to be caught in the arms that are already filled with the task of taking care of himself? Am I a bad person for desiring that?
So many questions. But I know justice will prevail for the both of us. It has to.
Mama…I feel so alone. I can't talk to Daddy about these things. I wish you or Gracia were still here.
It wasn't until she saw the blotches splattering across the page that Amelia noticed she was crying. Biting her lip and forcing herself to breathe deeply, she gently set her journal back in the drawer and fully slid underneath the covers.
That night she dreamt of rocking chairs and lullabies, and an unfamiliar man with dark brown hair and crystalline sky blue eyes that battled within a cyclone of black mist.
"You'll be okay, Amelia," he whispered tenderly. "We'll deal with this."
The stranger's words brought a warm sense of comfort to her heart, and she let herself be whisked away into the darkness that accompanied the enticing beckon of a deep sleep.
This is love…
- -
"This sucks."
Zelgadis grunted and kicked a rock into a nearby stream, satisfied with the angry plunk it made as it sank into the murky water. He had been on the road for nearly two weeks – more than enough time for him to get to Seyruun on horseback. But it seemed that the closer he got, the denser this annoying fog became, and he increasingly found himself at a loss for which direction to take.
A low growl emitted from his throat as he heatedly combed his fingers through his hair and looked up at the dark sky. Seyruun couldn't be much farther, but it was highly unlikely that he would reach it while it was foggy and dark…
'How could you do this to me?'
After a few more minutes of pondering it, Zelgadis narrowed his eyes and turned to the steed behind him. "To hell with it," he muttered as he mounted himself gracefully and grabbed the reigns. "Let's go."
He urged him and his horse forward into the thickening mist at a healthy trot, careful not to go too fast so that he could still maneuver through the trees. Seyruun was supposed to be just beyond this forest, and he prayed that he was going in the right direction.
His thoughts wandered to the princess, and what he would say to her upon his arrival. What could he say? No matter what, anything was going to seem lame and awkward.
'Hi, Amelia. I'm sorry I've only written to you once in the past three years. Oh, and I'm human again, in case you haven't noticed.'
Zelgadis snorted and rolled his eyes. Yeah, that would go over well.
A sudden eerie chill went up his spine, and he tugged on the reigns to bring the steed to a halt. He warily swept his gaze around the forest, although he couldn't see very much in the dark. But he could feel something. He could feel himself being watched. Which meant that somebody was watching him.
Zelgadis never did like to be stared at.
"Who's there?" he growled in a low and controlled voice, tensing in preparation to leap off his saddle should something step forward.
Something did step forward. Zelgadis kept his eyes trained on the whirling fog ahead of him as he saw the shape of a person begin to appear, and he immediately swung himself down to the ground. Hand flying to his sword, he crouched in a battle stance.
"Who are you?"
The figure stopped, and Zelgadis took note of its large, square frame and broad shoulders – a male. He saw that he was heavily garbed in a thick cloak that grandly draped around his entire frame, and its hood cast a shadow across his face, making it impossible to discern his features.
A light chuckle ensued from the stranger. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
A sense of déjà vu overcame the ex-chimera, and he hesitated before drawing his sword in one smooth motion. Do I know him?
"You raise your sword so soon?" There was cockiness in his tone, though he himself wielded no weapon that Zelgadis could see.
He faltered again, and tightened his grip on the leather hilt of his sword. "What do you want?" he asked tersely.
Another ghostly chortle, laced with bitterness this time. "What do I want? I want you to stay away, Zelgadis."
Zelgadis drew in a sharp breath, but didn't lower his sword. "How do you know me?"
"I wish I didn't. I despise you," the man droned, slowly backing away. "You're not supposed to be part of this. Know your place. Turn around and go home."
Zelgadis ran forward to where the man had stood, but as quickly as he had come, he had faded away again.
A Mazoku?
He stood bewildered, hands clenching and unclenching in irritation and confusion. The man knew his name. The man knew him. The fact greatly unsettled the swordsman, and he angrily turned around and mounted the steed again.
He went at a much faster pace than before.
- -
"Halt, stranger! State your business in Seyruun."
"My name is Zelgadis Greywords. I've come to see Princess Amelia."
"Nonsense! Sir Greywords is a chimera."
The shamanist sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "I have found my cure. I promised the princess that I would return to her once my search was over."
But I didn't.
The watchmen that stood guarding the palace gates gave each other a look of mutual suspicion, and the taller one cleared his throat before turning back to the traveler. "The princess has given us orders to always allow you to pass through. However, we need proof of your identity."
Zelgadis grit his jaw in annoyance. "Proof?"
"Yes," the shorter one chimed in. "Those were her orders."
A pondering frown creased his brow, and his gaze fell on the grandiose castle that stood proudly behind the guards. She said that I would need to prove myself…? That doesn't sound like Amelia. She trusts me more than that.
An idea suddenly came to him, and with a sly grin, he slowly reached to the canteen latched onto his hip and dislodged an item that was carefully wrapped around the lid. It's a test. She wanted to see if I would keep it.
"Here," he tossed the bracelet to the shorter watchman. "That belongs to her."
The guard closely inspected it, and then handed it to his partner with amazed intrigue. "Isn't that…?
"Ah," the other guard nodded, a sad smile spreading across his wise features. "Princess Alana's bracelet."
Zelgadis shook his head in surprise, not sure if he had heard correctly. "No, that's not right. It belongs to Amelia."
The taller watchman raised his gaze to meet the mounted traveler's. "Aye, now it does," he softly agreed, handing the jewelry back to Zelgadis. "But it was first her mother's."
The other guard nodded forlornly. "Yes. It's a piece of a jewelry set that belonged to Crown Princess Alana, and it was all supposed to be handed down to Princess Gracia…" he trailed off, but the others knew why the transaction hadn't occurred. Princess Gracia Ul Naga Seyruun had run away soon after the death of her mother.
"A.S." Zelgadis thought aloud. "So it really stands for Alana Seyruun." He wasn't quite sure how the woman had passed away, and though his curiosity gnawed at him gallingly, he thought better than to ask.
Both guards nodded desolately at the memory of the late Crown Princess, and they each respectfully stepped aside to allow the traveler to pass. "You'll have to dismount your horse," the shorter one explained. "We'll take him to the stables, so don't worry."
Zelgadis reluctantly did as he was told, and the taller guard took the mount by its reigns. "You might be asked to go through the same procedure once you reach the front doors, but once you do, I believe you'll find Princess Amelia in the ballroom."
He had no intention of attending any frivolous party, but the ex-chimera nodded and passed through the gates without another word.
He kept to the shadows mostly, dodging around patrolling guards to avoid unwanted confrontation – he only had to put a couple of them to sleep. He stealthily traveled to the side of the palace where he knew there was a wide floor-to-ceiling window that portrayed the ballroom beyond, and crept to the edge of it to peer inside, eyes scanning over the opulent crowd.
Of course he instantly spotted Prince Philionel, who by far stood taller than anyone there. Several other older men flanked him on both sides as he pumped his fists through the air in enthusiastic hand gestures, clearly trying to get his point across to the other nobles. They would nod excitedly in response, brows drawn together and mouths moving in animated speech and then sipping from goblets filled with rich wine. Politics, Zelgadis assumed. And then there were the brilliant colors that moved like fireworks, exploding radiantly in his vision as women twirled and curtseyed and were spun across the dance floor, skirts of elegant gowns billowing around slender legs as they danced with…men.
Lots and lots of men. What were all of those men doing in Seyruun? And…where was Amelia? After several minutes of searching for the princess and coming up with no results, he came to the obvious conclusion that she wasn't there.
Then where could she be?
Zelgadis slowly started to back up, raising his probing gaze to the levels above the ballroom.
…And almost yelped as he scrambled to hide behind a tree.
There, standing regally on the balcony and overlooking the streets of Seyruun, was the princess herself. Zelgadis bit his lip as he stared at her from behind his hiding spot, praying that she hadn't had spotted him. But judging from the hollow expression on her face, he knew that he was in the clear.
With a sigh of relief, he continued to watch her. What was she doing? She was just standing there, pointlessly staring, mulling over something. But what could be so important for her to think about while there was a festive gala going on right below her? She was even dressed for the event, he noticed, wearing a diamond tiara and a strapless turquoise ball gown that fit tightly around her torso and flared dramatically at the waist.
He unwillingly admitted to himself that she looked beautiful. The only drawback was the sadness that clung to her like a smothering cloak, and Zelgadis felt his heart wrench when he saw her hang her head and retreat back into her chambers.
The doors had been left open, and he felt an internal struggle rise within him.
She's okay. His fingernails dug into the bark of the tree anxiously. I'll leave now, and go back into town and stay at an inn to plan out my strategy. She'll still be here tomorrow.
Many minutes passed as he mulled it over, and still he didn't move, his eyes never leaving the open set of double doors as his thoughts turned to the cause of the princess's sadness. He had only seen Amelia so distraught once before, and that was when she thought her father had been assassinated. He had shadowed her every step during that crisis, watched over her, guarded her. Most of the time, she didn't even know. He could easily trail her without alerting her of his presence. And now the doors were so invitingly and innocently wide open.
"Oh hells," he muttered before casting a Ray Wing and floating up to her balcony. He silently landed on the marble base and tiptoed over to the doorway, careful to stay by the edge to prevent from being spotted. He needn't have worried, though; the princess was nestled cozily in her bed and fast asleep.
She's asleep. She's fine.
Before he could stop himself, he glided craftily into the lavish room, the growing desire to see her easily extinguishing the warning signals that screamed in his head. She was cut open by her own hand in his nightmares, creamy skin torn to bits. It was so gruesome, blood and tears and flesh – he needed to see her up close, make sure she wasn't hurt. He drifted closer and closer, not daring to even breathe, for he would surely find himself in a rather compromising situation should she wake.
Amelia suddenly bolted upright, an arm outstretched with a finger pointing at him accusingly. "Halt, villain!"
Zelgadis froze as his heart leapt into his throat. Dammit, what do I do, what do I say? But then, with great relief, he noticed that her eyes were still closed. He let out a shaky breath as she fell back onto her pillows, sound asleep.
I need to get out of here.
But he hadn't seen her yet, not really, and so he continued to walk towards her, stopping once he was only inches away from the bed. The moonlight fell over her, setting her pale skin ablaze with a silver brilliance – a beautiful contrast to the onyx hair of hers that fanned across her pillow like silk. One of the straps of her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, and Zelgadis gently reached over to pull it back up.
She had changed, though only a little. Her hair had grown a few inches, now reaching her shoulders. And judging from her outline beneath the satin comforter, he assumed that she had grown some in height as well, but possibly only two or three inches at most. Her face had not changed; it still retained that certain childlike quality that had always endeared him in the past.
He gently sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. He knew he shouldn't have been there in such close proximity with the princess; it was sneaky, improper, and – in her words – unjust. He had no right to trespass into her bedroom – not after shunning her like he did, not even just to check on her. She would've shut and locked the doors if she'd known. She would've posted bodyguards in the hall and more watchmen at the gates. She had every source of personal protection at her fingertips. She didn't need him.
Finally regaining his senses, Zelgadis made to stand up, but a slight moan immediately stopped him. He looked back at the princess once more, her face suddenly contorted in panic.
"Why," she whimpered, and he detected tiny trails of water trickling from beneath her eyelids.
She was crying in her sleep, he realized with horror.
"…Trapped," she mumbled again. Zelgadis reached his hand out to her and a brushed a few strands of her obsidian tresses away from her face. What had happened to her? What could concern her enough to make her cry in her sleep?
"No," he spoke softly, but firmly. "You'll be okay, Amelia. We'll deal with this."
He had no idea what provoked him to say such a thing, but his words seemed to quiet her, and she drifted back off into what he hoped was a peaceful slumber. And he sat there for a long, long while, simply watching her, prepared to fight off anymore disturbances in her sleep.
Disclaimer: I do not own Slayers.