Fate War: Alliance (2 page)

His specimens secure, Cole sat back against a tree to enjoy the warmth of late spring. Breathing in the fresh air of the unspoiled countryside, he reveled in his last moments of freedom. He tried not to think about the hours, days, even years ahead. Instead he concentrated on the munching of his dapple gray gelding, Octavious, and the twittering of song birds in the branches above him. He let the languid breeze caress his face and bare arms where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He should be wearing a waistcoat. He didn’t care. The wind flirted with strands of too-long hair that fell on his forehead. The peace and solitude settled deeply in his soul, and he began to drift.

A sudden snort from Octavious and his nervous pawing jarred Cole from the edge of slumber. The animal’s acute senses must have detected something he couldn’t. Cole stood slowly, hand on the pistol at his hip and searched the now quiet glade. He retrieved his rapier propped against the tree, and watched his horse flick uneasy ears. Finally, a faint thrumming reached Cole. He knew the sound, and the tension in his shoulders melted.

“It’s okay boy,” he assured Octavious. The noise grew. Searching for the source above, a shadow passed over him from behind. Cole turned and looked up, shielding his eyes from the midday sun. A pulsating hum reverberated through the clearing, bouncing off tree trunks and amplifying the drone. Octavious spooked, but Cole was there swiftly with a calming hand, and the horse settled.

After a moment, he could make out the form of the air ship. A few more moments, and it was out of the path of the sun. He could see the gold adornments and brass strappings reflecting the sun’s rays. The richly stained wooden vessel was suspended from an air bladder of a uniform deep blue; Perspicians.

He watched as the mechanical wonder from the technologically advanced island disappeared over the tree line, a trail of smoke and steam left in its wake. Its destination was certainly the capital, Arborea, and the castle. The forest creatures began to stir again, and Octavious resumed his endless chomping.

And just like that it was over, the thrumming, his solitude and his whole life. Again. As he gathered his things, stowing the book reverently in his satchel, he recalled the day ten years ago when he thought his life had ended along with his older brother’s. Yet it hadn’t changed much at all. It seemed he would be able to live his life as he saw fit. He had been allowed to pursue his own interests and shirk most of his royal responsibilities. Still, one day he would take the throne, a day far in the future. A day he refused to think about.

He chuckled to himself thinking how different he had been back then and the circumstances that had brought him out of the dark years following Morgan’s death. His humor faded quickly. He didn’t want to think about them right now.

Cole still valued his freedom to do as he pleased, but his goals were certainly more commendable now, at least for the most part. All was well, until the Alliance. The slagging Alliance!

He mounted Octavious and spurred him toward the city with a sharp kick, more out of frustration than need to encourage the horse. Octavious loved to run, and Cole loved to let him. He pointed his steed in the direction of home and gave the beast his head.

Although he had managed to cooperate as little as possible over the years with his father, King Arnold, his duties as Prince could no longer be ignored. Duty. He just couldn’t understand how societies so technologically advanced, and continuing to advance, could hold on to such archaic and simply barbaric traditions. Tradition. Duty. Ritual. Custom. Honor. People would do strange things in their name.
His
people. The nobles. They would die before giving up their antiquated ways even in light of recent medical, social and scientific advancements. Senseless.

He much preferred the common sense of the common folk. The workers, the backbone of their society cared little for these affairs except honor. Honor to them however, was a different beast than it was to the nobles. A commoner’s sense of honor had everything to do with a fair days work for fair wages. To a noble man honor was simply another series of steps which, if not followed properly, was cause for meaningless lawsuits or duels.

Yet today he would give his life as he knew it for tradition and honor. He would do his duty for his people and his country. He would sacrifice for nobles and commoners alike, for the sake of their security against the advancing Fate Army. He would solidify the Alliance of the Island of Perspicia and his own Arboreal Lands by marrying not only a woman he didn’t love, but a woman with whom he had never spoken or even seen.

He crested the final hill and urged Octavious faster through the flat plain ahead. A haze of smoke and steam were now visible from the growing modern city and all its entrapments. In contrast to the boxy houses and slate tiled roof tops the spires of the ancient castle that stood sentinel grew steadily as Octavious galloped on.

Arborea, it was Cole’s childhood home and future residence as King. His lips pressed together in a resolute line. He’d do it. He would marry. But he would not be happy about it. He supposed he may never be happy again. He could just make out the gilded air ship descending beyond the city walls. His bride had arrived.

****

“What the hell is this?” Cole yelled, as he stepped into his bedchambers, blinking against the bright afternoon light that glared through the balcony doors. Servants bustled about the stonewalled room, placing folding chairs in two rows at the end of the four poster bed. One black-and-white-clad maid stopped her tucking of the deep burgundy coverlet in tight corners under his feather mattress to stare wide-eyed at him.

King Arnold pushed off from the writing desk in the corner. His father had probably been waiting there for him a while. Good.

“And where have you been, son?” The question matched Cole’s in intensity. They didn’t even bother ratcheting it up anymore. They simply exploded on each other if they were within hearing distance. King Arnold stormed toward his son, tugging and straightening his stiff red jacket with tails. The thick gold embroidery along the edges and up the buttons blared in noble style. His dark but graying hair didn’t budge from its strict part as he tramped across the room. “It’s your wedding day for God’s sake, and look at you! Dressed like a peasant, unwashed and in need of a barber.”

“Sorry to have disappointed you…again.” Cole leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “You know that’s all I’m good for. Except for maybe a good show!” He nodded towards the chairs being assembled.

The King stopped a few paces from the door and acknowledged the set up. His shoulders dropped, and his features softened almost imperceptibly. “I tried to stop The Verification.” This was spoken, not yelled, but the feigned sympathy made Cole all the more defensive.

“Slag you!” He pushed off, trying to brush past his father. The king unhooked his cane from the crook of his arm and barred Cole’s way. He stared down into the ruby eyes of the carved gold dragon head that was the handle, then back into his father’s. Cole flung the gaping maw from his chest and wove through the servants to his study door at the head of the bed.

“I tried!” the king growled from behind him.

Cole slammed the door to the adjoining room on his father’s lies. Lies that killed Morgan, and lies that continued to hurt his children. He tossed his satchel on the couch, and dropped beside it, trying to block out the sounds of preparation next door. He stared across the room at his own red coattails hanging from a rack, remembering the fitting he missed this morning. Hopefully it fit well enough.

Just when he thought this Alliance couldn’t be any worse, his father failed him this one last splendid time. The King could be as disappointed in him as he wanted. It was his fault Cole was put in this position anyway. Slag him. Slag it all.

****

Perfect. In every way expected, Samantha was perfect. She should be. Her mother had seen to it that every waking and non-waking moment since childhood became an opportunity for refinement of her character or her appearance. She examined herself in the massive mirror that occupied the corner of the room. The opulent space had been provided for her and the entourage that was helped to ready her for the wedding. Now sufficiently tucked, tied, painted and powdered they all left her for a few moments to herself. The mirror had been covered with a bed sheet, as seeing yourself on your wedding day brought bad luck, but how much worse could it get. She broke the rule and smiled at her flawless reflection. Almost flawless. Her eyes were missing something. The stylists couldn’t figure it out, but Samantha knew. Her face smiled, but her eyes wouldn’t. No amount of makeup would change that.

She took in her perfectly formed curves encased in her wedding dress. It was a work of art, so she was told. She couldn’t even begin to guess the yards of white fabric that formed the bustle. Not to mention the copious amounts of lace along the fairy type sleeves and hems. It showed just enough cleavage to be proper, but she wasn’t sure anyone would notice, as their gazes would surely be focused on the shiny silver boning of the corset, or the sparkle of the sapphires embedded throughout.

Voices echoed from down the hall, and she imagined her mother walking in at this moment to see her in the mirror. She would probably faint. For an instant Samantha’s eyes matched her smile, a twinkle of laughter creeping into the corners, but she dropped the sheet back over the mirror, sparing her mother the horror.

Queen Adella entered the room with a flourish as always, dressed head to toe in Perspician blue. Her mother’s curves were perfect too. There were just much more of them, and her dark hair was curled and pinned in a heap like Samantha’s. A blue peacock feather protruded from her nest of brown curls at an angle. The Queen clutched a white handkerchief and dabbed at moisture on her cheeks periodically.

“My little girl,” she sobbed and began checking her over. For a moment Samantha thought her mother might hug her.

“Today,” her mother began and continued to fluff the wedding dress here and there. “is so very, very important.” The queen moved on to straightening Samantha’s voluminous hair. “Our country is depending on you.”

Samantha had managed to keep her nerves in check so far, but this
encouragement
from her mother threatened her resolve. Queen Adella, apparently satisfied with her daughter’s appearance, finally looked her in the eyes and spoke. “I know this has been hard for you, will be hard for you.”

Samantha thought she might have seen a hint of compassion, or regret. She wasn’t sure as her mother looked away quickly hiding the evidence. The Queen recovered and continued sternly. “But you must fulfill your duty Samantha. You have had your training, and I expect…your country expects, that you will act the proper wife and princess. If you fail in this and the Alliance dissolves…” Not finishing the sentence reminded Samantha of all that was at stake.

“Yes, mother. I know,” she said sincerely.

“It’s time.”

Queen Adella led Samantha to the anteroom. She distracted herself by concentrating on the rich tapestries and carpets that warmed the cold stone castle walls and floors. The growing rumble of organ music threaded into her concerted efforts as they approached. She saw her father, also in Perspician blue, waiting in the foyer. A sapphire studded crown held his graying hair flat to his head. His slender arms beckoned an embrace and a fond smile wrinkled his face. He said nothing, but placed a gentle kiss on her forehead as he embraced her.

Samantha tried to feel comforted. The organ music ended, and a loud authoritative voice announced, “King Augustus and Queen Adella of Perspicia”. He released her, and patted her hand. The Queen took his arm, and they entered the throne room. The applause caused Samantha to start. The room must have been larger than she imagined and held more people than she expected.

The nerves she worked diligently to settle mutinied. She fought to keep her breathing deep and regular as her heart fluttered so fast she couldn’t distinguish individual beats. Her vision threatened to desert. The Wedding March began, and the announcer called, “Princess Samantha of Perspicia!”

Just walk. Just walk, she told herself. Incredibly her feet followed orders. She reached the massive doors of the throne room and saw thousands of eyes peering at her. She wavered. The low murmurs and awes of spectators did nothing but urge retreat. Her only hope was to block out everything, and just walk. Her searching eyes fell to the figure at the end of the red carpeted aisle. She may as well focus on him. He was only one person after all and the man who would be her husband.

She was glad for the requirement to walk slowly, because she had to convince her legs to move one at a time. She kept her gaze locked on Prince Cole, and her heartbeat mostly returned to normal. From this distance, she could see his willowy form clad in red, Arboreal red. Though slender, he did not look frail. On the contrary, as she gained ground she could see he had quite pronounced arms and chest. Perhaps it was just padding in the jacket.

Closer now, she could make out some of his finer features. His light brown hair was too long and hung to his ears on either side. She couldn’t decide if she should be offended or amused. She knew he was twenty-eight but he looked much younger. His sharp jaw line was the first thing she noticed about his face and then his slightly crooked nose. She wondered how it was broken. Then she could see his lips. They made a thin line across his face. He didn’t smile. She broadened hers hoping he would be pleased with her appearance, but his rigid stance remained as she took the last steps to closed the space between them. His brow furrowed between his eyes. His eyes! She had never seen such intriguing eyes. The outer edges started light blue, and the inside edge was green. In between, was a mist of blues and greens that reminded her of the ocean surrounding her home.

She supposed he was handsome. The quintessential Prince Charming. He probably had a white horse too. But she didn’t feel that feeling. The thing she assumed she would feel when she first saw him. She imagined it as an inflowing of air and a warmth settling on her heart. It just wasn’t there. She hoped the disappointment didn’t show. The thought of that feeling had given her some faith that there might be some happiness in this for her.