Summary: A desperate monarch makes a pact with another king that will one day force him to give his headstrong daughter to the king's harsh son. Within the castle walls lay many secrets, including a deadly curse with one year to break. Let the fairytale begin.

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Chapter Fifteen: Part One

It was quiet.

With all of the commotion earlier—the shouting, the betrayals, the scheming, the promises—Cecilia wasn't sure if she liked the alien concept of silence. Lying on her bed, Cecilia's mind ran rampant even though her body was exhausted.

The night was warm, murky, a perfect summer night for love. Tall, busy trees swayed gently to the night wind as the frogs and crickets alike chirped and grunted, longing for their loved ones. Although the night was full of heavy dark clouds, it could not fully conceal the golden summer moon and her stars that twinkled teasingly through spots of clear sky. If she stood at her window Cecilia could make out the faint lanterns swinging in windows, gently being blown out one by one by its owners, preparing to slumber just as she. But Cecilia was not at her majestic balcony; instead she lay upon of her satin sheets with her window open, lest a small breeze make its way into her room. Her room was stuffy, the air constricting and squeezing on her lungs. There were times when she missed the crisp feel of winter.

A shift to her side indicated that Ilario wasn't sleeping well either. He was more accustomed to cooler climates, and although his winter coat was gone, the thick fur was still uncomfortable to him. Usually, he slept on the floor, but Cecilia wanted comfort and companionship—it would be unfathomable to try and find Derek at that time of night.

Derek. Although the thought of him brought a smile to her face, Cecilia still couldn't help but worry about their situation. She hoped that her father would come to his senses, but the chances were slim. Her father was, above all, a stubborn man, and it seemed that both he and Derek had their pride in common.

And amongst it all, the curse still remained unbroken. Derek had told her that although they had declared their love for each other, only when they wed in the presence of the enchantress who administered the curse would he become a true man.

After that they spent another hour conversing, their interactions natural and free of the awkwardness of the past. Finally, Cecilia knew that it was unfair to keep her sister and Ana waiting for so long, and she managed to slip from Derek's arms and back into the passageway.

Her thoughts settling down, the lids of her eyes beginning to droop, Cecilia found herself drifting off to sleep, never hearing the far off clatter of horse hooves creeping closer and closer to the castle.

Like Cecilia, Derek found himself unable to sleep. His mind spun and he felt overwhelmed with his own thoughts. The room he was in seemed claustrophobic—how could they house its owner, with thoughts and dreams that seemed bigger than the world could possibly handle?

After months—no, years of waiting for her, Cecilia was finally his. It made him grin, and a burden lifted off his shoulders. However, Derek knew that the battle for his freedom was hardly over. Although he felt that Cesario was a big dilemma, Derek knew that their problems dove deeper than that.

What really bothered him was who told Cesario about his secret? It was evident from the king's fury that Cecilia hadn't mentioned it. And if she hadn't told her father, then it was obvious the other princesses had no idea as well. The servants were magically bound to keep quiet. So who could it have been?

Before Derek could ponder the matter further, Priscilla's voice could be heard beyond his door. "Your Highness?"

Her voice was tinged with a panic that made Derek sit up in his bed immediately. "Priscilla?"

"Come quick, Derek!" Came the frantic whisper. "Oh—I did not realize it would come to this!"

"To what?" Derek asked sharply, filled with fear.

"They're here, Derek! All of them!"

"All of what?"

"The other nations—our neighbors. It seems as if all of the continent is here!"

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Marguerite, with little time to spare, hastily shouted orders at the servants to prepare more guest rooms. More food was to be made and the main room used for political discussions was to be aired out immediately.

The room itself was relatively small in comparison to the throne room and dining room. At first glance the room was ordinary, but at closer glance one could see that the walls were not smooth, large slab of stone but of small squares of cobblestone. History oozed from every crevice; supposedly the castle was built around the room. Originally it was made as a single room as a way to have safe lodgings and political meetings away from the potentially prying eyes of hidden enemies. Later on it was decided that a fortress was needed and the remainder of the castle was built around the room. Various tapestries depicting the castle's history draped the stone, windowless walls, omitting the more violent aspects of the royal family's past. The room itself was rarely used, and the only furniture within it was a large, rectangular, stone table with wooden chairs flanking it on all sides. The table itself was something of a family heirloom; legend had it that the first ruling monarchs of Fraanc had made it centuries before (although it was first used as a dining table, people liked to conveniently forget that fact.)

Marguerite made good use of her half hour and when she finished, the monarchs of the continent rained down upon her. In hindsight, Marguerite would later reflect that the various rulers assembled in a manner that was eerily similar to their daughters.

Heidi bore a strong resemblance to her father, King Emil, whose stern visage could intimidate any parliament, foreign or otherwise. He had come with a few advisors but otherwise left his other children and his wife, the Queen Adala, at home in Germaine.

He strode in confidently, majestic red cape billowing, his advisors scurrying behind him. "Marguerite!" He barked, decorum clearly a foreign subject. "I have heard tales, my Freench ally, and I want them to be explained immediately!"

Despite his brisk and intimidating manner, Marguerite knew from experience that the Germin king's bark was worse than his bite and she calmly replied, "Emil, I suggest we wait until all of the rulers arrive, then I would only have to explain this in one breath."

Grumbling to himself, Emil made no reply towards her and dropped himself into a seat, barking at his advisors periodically.

Glad that the worst seemed to be over for the moment, Marguerite braced herself for the two Welsh monarchs coming towards her.

King Uilliam, or Liam, of Eyerlin had his daughter's striking eyes, which were filled with a confidence and kindness that made Marguerite more comfortable. He gave her a small smile. "I know I'll behave, Maggie, but I canna speak for that one," he said before he sat down quietly, motioning to the imposing figure behind him.

Scoughtlyn's queen, Riannon, walked like a man and Marguerite saw Tessa in every physical way, from her chestnut hair to the sway of her hips. Her unusual attire consisted of a man's tunic, leggings, and boots. Marguerite supposed that by looking a man, Riannon helped to intimidate like a man. "Marguerite," she said briskly. "When are we starting?"

"Soon," Marguerite said placidly. "And how is Griffin?"

"My husband," snorted Riannon, "is suffering from a broken leg, the scoundrel. I told him to go easy on his huntin', but heaven forbid he listens to me, his wife." Not waiting for an answer, she pulled out a chair for herself across from Emil, who did not look pleased, and sat herself in it, her stance manly.

A familiar face was the young king of Spainne, Ana's brother Tristàn. His honey eyes were sad and tired but with broad shoulders thrown back, his posture was strong. He greeted Marguerite with a bow and a warm smile and then wordlessly took a seat beside the ruler of Eyerlin.

Unexpected arrivals included the King Julien of Bellgium and the Inglin monarch, King Charles, who, although they had no daughters, still had received letters and demanded to know what was going on.

Julien and Charles were both extremely stubborn men, though Julien had more of a temper than Charles, the latter being slightly more tolerable. Although they were similar in mind and soul, physically they were different as could be. Julien stood short and stout, with whispy blond hair and hardened, charcoal grey eyes, while Charles imposed a tall, slim figure with dark hair and ocean blue eyes Marguerite had always envied. The female monarch, though, was in no mood to look at those eyes. She was tempted to tell them to mind their own business and send them home, but a monarch could not be so brazen, especially not a woman one.

Marguerite took her position at the head of the table and swallowed indiscreetly. Well, at least the Itallien king was still up in his chambers. He would blow a gasket once he discovered the impromptu meeting had occurred without his presence. But she had enough to deal with at the moment.

Turning to face perhaps the most intimidating audience she had ever come across, Marguerite squared her shoulders. Ever the politician, she first asked, "What exactly did your letters tell you?" Perhaps this wasn't the most subtle method but in dire circumstances being straightforward was the only way to go.

"The letters," said Emil, "told us that your son was a monster, a beast. Is this true? Has a beast been courting my daughter?"

Chaos broke out at Emil's words, people arguing, shouting, trying to calm the other down.

"It is true," a voice rang out. Low, gravelly, and suppressing the ultimate rage, Marguerite could not help but shiver. She knew that voice.

"That monster has been courting our daughters," Cesario said, and his eyes glinted almost maniacally. "But none of you have anything to fear. He has fallen in love with my daughter, the beast. I suggest that we leave with our daughters immediately and see that some action against The Wolf Prince is taken."

"How dare you," seethed Marguerite, "speak of my son like that, in my presence, in my home. What right have you to do such a thing?"

"Madam," snarled Cesario, "when anything dear to me is threatened, it is my right to do what needs to be done is protect them."

"All you are protecting is your pride!" shouted Marguerite, her anger dominating her manners. "Cecilia loves Derek just as much as he loves her! When they wed, the curse is broken! Why are you punishing Derek for something that was his ancestors fault?"

She did not realize until that moment that it had gone silent in the room. She looked, heavily breathing, upon her fellow monarchs, who looked shocked.

"My lady," Tristàn said quietly, "please tell us of this curse. The letters given to us did not explain much, other than saying that the prince was a monster and that his curse would only be satisfied with the heart of a young princess."

Marguerite closed her eyes briefly. So that was it. They all thought that Derek would kill their loved ones for their hearts because of his affliction. She opened her eyes and spoke of the curse to someone other than her family for the first time. They all sat, fascinated, and Marguerite finished with that Derek would have to marry his true love before his first and twentieth birthday. And his true love was Cecilia.

"Yes, I know all of this," Cesario said, holding up a small book. "But I tell you, Marguerite, I do not give a damn whether your son lives or dies. All I want is my daughter back."

Marguerite gaped. She knew the significance of the book. "Where did you get that?" She whispered.

"It was sent to me with the letter informing me of your son's condition," sneered the king. "It has been most helpful. But that still does not change my mind. Your son is a monster, and he needs to be stopped. Now."

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The man in the picture showed no resemblance to the young man standing in front of it, although his ice blue eyes held the same bitterness. His hair was a deep, glossy black with streaks of steel grey and white flitting through it, his posture strong and bold. The artist managed to capture the devilish smirk that so often was found on the owner's face. Dressed all in black, from his cape to his shoes, the picture painted the man in a form he was so rarely in; his human one.

To the people of the world he was known as The Dark Mage, the subject of many a tale known to scare children into obedience. To The Fair Enchantress, he was known as Little Brother, a title that many times infuriated him and fuelled his ambition. To the people of misguided Rushha, he was a savior, a promise in winning the war. To the people of Spainne he was an isolated, indifferent lord who never made time for court. To Lord Adrian, he was simply Father.

Growing up, Adrian did not have much contact with anyone beyond his father and the servants in their manor. His father kept him close to him after the mysterious death of Adrian's mother and taught him what he needed to know about the world. He educated him in subjects ranging from etiquette to archery to politics to sorcery.

The Dark Mageand his sister, The Fair Enchantress (or The Enchantress, as she was more often referred to as,) were two of the most powerful beings in the magical world. Although they were merely spectators, they served as rule keepers in the mortal world; only when things needed to be set right where they called upon, but otherwise their duty dictated that they not interfere.

The Dark Mage was responsible for the death and dying of all that was mortal; he had the power to end life (when it was time) and lead the souls to the next stage: death. The Fair Enchantress, his sister, began life and when a mistake was made by her brother, she corrected it with her power to bring back life.

His most fatal mistake occurred when he went to silently end the life of the ailing Rushhan king. Beside his bedside was his family, including his daughter Adrianna. His love for her was instantaneous and shortly after he appeared to her in human form to woo and court her.

The Fair Enchantress saw what was happening and begged her brother to give up the Rushhan princess. "It will only end in heartache," she told him. "Adrianna is mortal. What will happen when you must end her life? She cannot stay with you. She must move on."

The Dark Mage refused to listen to his sister and married her anyway; shortly after, they had Adrian. The latter event caused The Mage and The Enchantress to be on temporary good terms; as much as she disapproved of her brother's actions, The Enchantress adored her nephew.

But when the war began, The Dark Mage's fear for his wife and child led him to relinquish all aspects of common sense. He knew that they were mortal and he whisked them away to Spainne, where he created a title for them there, magicking his name into the memory and mind of the Spanish monarchs, letting him think that he had been a lord there all along.

When Adrianna found out about The Mage's powers, she begged him to help win the war—for Rushha. "They can win with you on their side," she pleaded. "Do it for me, my love."

And he did, for he could deny her nothing.

When The Enchantress found out about her brother's doings, she was furious. "It is not our right to interfere in the lives of humans!" she fumed at him. "Marrying Adrianna was bad enough, but this? You are affecting the lives of so many others. It is not fair to the other side that they have an immortal aiding their enemy. Do you not remember the Trojan war, Brother? The tragedy that we swore we would never bring upon human life?"

"Rot in hell, Sister dear," sneered The Dark Mage. "You do not have one you love to protect. And life is not fair, you have said it yourself." He paused, smirking. "Of course, if you wanted to make it fair, you could go and help the other side yourself."

In her rage, The Enchantress magicked herself away, doing just that. And while her brother had the ability to kill people by the thousands, she had the ability to bring them back to life—and he did not. Silently, invisibly she helped the countries of Italle, Fraanc, and more win the war. But it came at a valuable price: the love and friendship of her beloved brother.

The Dark Mage was not left unscarred either. He had unleashed a plague across the lands in his fury over the loss, but his recklessness cost him the thing he valued above all others: his wife. He forgot about her mortality—the one thing he had tried to protect for so long—and it ruined her.

He recalled the plague as soon as he knew she was dying but to no avail. She was gone.

The Mage turned to his sister one last time—The Enchantress, with her power of rebirth—but she refused him. "Let it be your lesson," she told him, her eyes sad and sympathetic even if her voice was unwavering, "of interfering in a place you never belonged."

His fury at her could have destroyed the world.

But he had an infant son to think of: Adrian, after his mother. It seemed that The Dark Mage had his own curse, however, because he continued to let Adrianna haunt him and his hatred for his sister and the people she protected ate at him. It allowed him to poison his young son's mind with that hatred, and so Adrian grew up, his heart as dark as his father's name.

And so he grew up with revenge on his brain and bitterness in his eyes.

He had not seen his father in a few months—he came and went, cold as a statue, but when he heard of Adrian's plans to bring down the Italle and Fraanc kingdoms he allowed a bit of affection and satisfaction seep through. Adrian—misguided, neglected—seeped it up and vowed to avenge his mother and the shell that was his father.

Even if he died doing it.


Last Edited: 4/7/09