Inheritance of Sorrow: Blood Bride

Prince Aleyshan hated everything about Morynthia. The cold, the gloom, the people, those creepy dragonets—but most of all, he hated the city of Moringorod and the Imperial Court.

Haven’t read the previous instalments yet?

Inheritance of Sorrow

One night and one day he’d been here now, forced to lick that pompous Emperor Fedromir’s boots and convince the man that he’d make a good husband to his precious daughter. He didn’t even want to marry the woman, and doubted very much that she wanted to marry him.

But going against Padr’s wishes would have been a terrible idea.

His mind drifted back to the night before, that sham of an audience with his future father-in-law. Audience, his horse’s arse! He’d been interrogated, as if he were nothing more than a common criminal.

The throne room, lit by just a few torches, was cloaked in a sinister half-dusk. In the heart of the chamber, thirteen opulent chairs were occupied by Fedromir’s advisors—men and women of prestige, no doubt—and their menacing expressions sent a chill down Aleyshan’s spine.

Slightly apart from the circle, yet seemingly a part of it, Fedromir—pearls braided into his long ebony hair and beard, and an array of golden jewellery around his neck and wrists—sat on his gilded throne.

In the centre of that imposing arrangement stood a plain, low stool—waiting.

As Aleyshan sat on the stool, the emperor looked down on him, his dark eyes glinting with what could only be interpreted as pure malice.

‘Tell me, princeling,’ a plump man in black and green velvets said in a lazy voice, ‘what are your ambitions?’ With studied indifference, he examined the golden rings he wore around his fingers.

Aleyshan cleared his throat, not sure if he even wanted to draw the man’s attention away from his repulsive display of wealth. ‘I intend to govern my people with righteousness, and to make my lands prosper.’

‘Hear, hear,’ a voluptuous woman sang in a high-pitched voice. ‘Such noble intentions. How absolutely endearing!’

‘Noble, indeed,’ a rat-faced man with a thin, scratchy voice chimed in. ‘Seems like the princeling with the golden eyes has a heart of gold, too.’ He made a show of squeezing his hands tightly around his own throat as he made gagging noises.

Everyone laughed, except for the emperor, who watched the whole spiel impassively, and Alyeshan himself. His blood boiled, and he clenched his teeth, desperately trying not to lose his temper. If only he could—

‘No vision, then, is it, youngling?’ a delicate-looking woman purred in a deceptively deep contralto. With her dark eyes, she scanned his features as if he were the most fascinating sight she’d ever beheld. Yet, there was danger in those eyes. Subtle, but unmistakable.

‘No plans for expansion, my dearest prince?’ she continued, twirling a lock of her golden hair around her littlest finger.

She came closer. Circled around him—twice. Then, she popped a finger into her mouth before running it down his cheeks, his neck, his arm…

Aleyshan’s blood curdled. The veins throbbed in his temples, and his breath caught. What was that woman doing? Did she think he was her play-thing, or what?

‘No wish to topple your enemies, or those who oppose you?’ a deep voice boomed behind him.

He turned to face its owner, a man in his middle years, who exuded an air of quiet affluence. Yet, despite his refined features, Aleyshan had no doubt about the fellow’s intentions, which were anything but benign.

He looked like the kind of person who would silence his opponents without feeling even a hint of guilt. A man like Padr, who had done just that.

Remembering how that poor High Priest Havarni had come to an untimely end, he suppressed a shiver. Found dead in his bed, lips purple, and froth in the corners of his mouth. Heart failure, the court physician had declared, but Aleyshan knew the truth.

He’d seen Padr slip into the herbalist’s quarters the night before. And, because he didn’t trust him, he’d even listened at the door. He’d overheard the entire conversation, and it wasn’t hard to guess what had really happened to the old high priest.

It hadn’t ended there. All other dissident voices had been stilled, too, over the next couple of days, until none remained. Fatal illnesses and mysterious, unfortunate accidents had happened to all of them. And nobody dared speak aloud what everyone suspected.

‘Those who oppose me?’ He quirked an eyebrow and flashed the man a dismissive smile. His tutors had schooled him in the intricacies of political intrigue since he was a little boy. He could play this game, too.

‘Did you not know that it is… unhealthy to oppose the Royal House of Dalanthia?’

The thirteen roared with laughter, and even Emperor Fedromir leaned forward on his throne.

‘And yet, my dearest boy,’ the emperor said in a low whisper, ‘one never knows what lies ahead. There will come a time when you might need to show your strength. Your father will not live forever, and when he passes into A’harat’s Eternal Gardens, you will be tested.’

For a moment, Aleyshan was at a loss for words. He’d never seriously considered that reality. It was an uncomfortable truth that he’d always tried to push as far from his mind as possible. He didn’t want to become king.

Too bad women couldn’t wear the crown in Dalanthia. Astranam would have made a splendid queen if given the chance. He was sure of that. She enjoyed the dance of power, and had far better political instincts than he.

But Padr had married her off to Crown Prince Viliar of Falkenland, no doubt hoping to extend his own influence into that region. That was twenty turnings ago. She’d born the man two daughters before he died, and now she was stuck in that country for the rest of her days.

Life just wasn’t fair.

He took a deep breath before answering. ‘My father is strong and healthy, and I have no reason to believe he will meet Yat S’ber anytime soon, but when that day comes, I shall be ready.’

Hollow words, but did it matter? He just needed to survive this horror here, and then he’d never have to set foot in this godsforsaken country again.

‘You will use the sword, of course, won’t you, my boy?’ Fedromir leaned forward even more, and the cold glint in his eyes seemed to freeze the air. ‘You would do what’s necessary to keep your throne. To keep my daughter safe, yes?’

So here he was, at the Morynthian Court, for his marriage to Princess Dalenka. A woman he was sure he should not be marrying.

Flickering flames of large torches threw eerie shadows on the dark crimson walls of the grand hall. Fires burned brightly in no fewer than three fireplaces, and while the heat should have been suffocating, he felt cold to the bone.

A feast fit to feed a nation was laid out on the long tables that stood to either side of the space. Meats Aleyshan had never seen before, and could be anything, from roast manewolf to honeyed dragonthigh cuts, for all he knew.

Wine was served, not in silver or crystal goblets, but in strangely curved black horns. The grey loaves of bread were solid as stones and had a strange, sour smell to them, yet the courtiers devoured them with gusto.

Aleyshan’s appetite had left him the moment he set foot ashore Morynthian ground and had not returned since. Instead, a sick feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. Yet, he needed to eat, to keep his strength up, so he picked at the food on his plate with little conviction.

How he was going to survive an entire sevenday of festivities at this horrible place, Aleyshan didn’t know, and the worst was yet to come. He knew. He’d read all about it in the banned books.

There was this pre-wedding ceremony, as these Morynthian monsters called it. It was scandalous and humiliating—and if he didn’t play along nicely, he wouldn’t live to see the morning. No man who refused ever had, so he had no illusions.

Aleyshan pricked another bright purple berry on his fork and brought it to his mouth. It actually didn’t taste bad. Not bad at all, if he were completely honest. Sweet, yet at the same time tangy, and with a delicate aftertaste that left him craving more.

Music started playing. Trumpets blared, strings throbbed, and heavy drums thumped beneath the other instruments in a frenzied rhythm. Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him from his seat, and pushed him towards the emperor’s throne.

Already, the raucous laughter of people who delighted in the suffering of others made the air tremble. Some stamped their feet in apparent delight. Others yelled what had to be profanities in that unintelligible, coarse language of theirs.

None of it inspired any confidence in Aleyshan, and all he could do was send up his heartfelt prayers for strength to all seven gods of creation. Hopefully, that would be enough. He couldn’t afford to look weak. Not here, and especially not now.

Yet, his heart pounded in his ribcage, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Though his knees felt like jelly, his feet carried him forward until he stood before the man who would soon be his father-in-law.

‘Let’s see what you have to offer my daughter, young man.’ The emperor stared at him, his face an emotionless mask, but the icy chill in the man’s translucent blue eyes told Aleyshan everything he needed to know.

He struggled for breath as the tightness in his chest increased, but nobody seemed to notice or care. Which was probably just as well. The last thing he needed was to appear vulnerable.

Fedromir raised a hand, and the music stopped. The conversations and laughter, too.

As an eerie stillness descended on the place, the same hands that had pushed him along only moments ago now started to undress him. Aleyshan felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He clenched his fists.

Stay calm, a little voice inside his head warned him. Stay calm or die.

‘A bit small.’

The smirk on Fedromir’s face made Aleyshan want to punch him in the mouth and knock his teeth out. Yet he restrained himself. He had to see this through. These humiliations would only last one sevenday.

Once he was back in Dalanthia, he could... but no. He could never do as he pleased. He’d be a married man. Married to a woman he’d never be able to love. His heart belonged to Shælam.

The cacophonous laughter of the men that crowded around him pulled him out of his sombre ruminations, back into the even harsher reality.

‘Let’s see if we can remedy your little problem, yes boy?’ Fedromir winked at him, and his noxious smile broadened. The green dragonet that sat perched on the emperor’s shoulder cackled.

What was it with these Morynthians and their love of dragonkind? The way these people looked at that filthy little beast on Fedromir’s shoulder, you’d think they regarded it as some kind of deity.

‘Bring the Mistresses of the Night in.’

The music swelled to a roar, the double doors opened, and a dozen scarcely clad ladies entered the hall, their hips swaying as they approached the throne. Bile rose in Aleyshan’s throat. He swallowed it back.

‘Don’t worry, son.’ That ghastly grin never left Fedromir’s thin, purplish lips. ‘Your seed won’t come to fruition inside their wombs.’

It was true then, what the banned books said. That the Morynthian people forced their public ladies to eat the seeds of the flowers that bloomed beneath the eversnow of the Ingravian Peaks.

Dragonflowers, they called them, and, while the seeds were said to be tasty, they were also highly poisonous. Even consuming a small spoonful of them would lead to irreparable damage to one’s internal organs.

None of these ladies would last another turning. They would die from a heart attack or kidney failure—or choke to death on their own vomit. It would not be a quick or easy death. At least, that’s what he’d read in the books.

But the Morynthians didn’t care about that. They were basically a bunch of criminals and warlords. Cunning, ruthless, and extremely dangerous.

His thoughts were interrupted when a ginger beauty snaked an arm around his naked body and pulled him close. As her hand trailed down his buttocks, she said in a sultry voice, ‘let me take care of your needs, Lord Prince.’

Her breath was on his lips, and despite his disgust with the entire situation, an unwelcome desire burned within his body.

After seven agonising days of celebrations, the day of his doom had arrived. His marriage with this Dalenka, whom he still hadn’t seen even once, would become a fact. His fate—and with it the fate of his entire nation—would be sealed.

The marriage ceremony was a simple but painful affair. Blindfolded, he was led into the Great Hall, where Fedromir simply asked him one question. ‘Prince Aleyshan of Dalanthia, will you accept my daughter, Imperial Princess Dalenka of Morynthia, as your wife?’

For a moment, he hesitated. What if he said no?

But that would be suicide.

Even worse, the Morynthians would consider it an act of war. It would give them just the excuse they needed to invade Dalanthia and have their army of dragons destroy everything his fathers had worked so hard to achieve over the past three hundred turnings.

He took a deep breath, and with sweat pearling on his forehead, he said, ‘I will.’

The words had no sooner left his mouth than someone grabbed him around the left wrist and a sharp pain shot through his palm. Someone gasped almost inaudibly. Next, a small, slick hand was pressed into his.

‘Then I pronounce you husband and wife.’

Dalenka hadn’t been asked anything. Apparently, she had no say in the matter. Despite his resentment, he felt sorry for her. That was no way to treat a woman.

The blindfold was removed, and for the first time, he stood eye to eye with his bride. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. Long, mahogany hair, creamy skin, and the clearest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Yet, he read fear in those eyes.

He couldn’t blame her. She was just a girl, fifteen turnings. Sixteen at the very most, Aleyshan estimated. Far too young to be a married woman.

He let go of her hand, and only now he noticed the blood that stained his. So that was what the pain had been. Had they cut her palm, too? Was that why her hand had felt so slippery in his? Troglodytes!

The sooner they left this gods-forsaken country, the better. He might not love Dalenka, but he could at least try to offer her a better life.

Fedromir’s too-cheery voice cut into his thoughts. ‘Well, son, you know what to do.’

He did, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. The fear in Dalenka’s eyes intensified—and with good reason.

The gods-awful music that had been battering his eardrums all night every night since his arrival in Moringorod, started again and, under loud cheering, they were ushered out of the Great Hall and led to the Bridal Suite.

The emperor’s pesky dragonet followed them on quiet wings and entered their chambers with them.

As soon as the door was closed, Dalenka sat down on the bed—hands folded in her lap, and her shoulders shaking. Silent tears dripped down her cheeks.

‘Please, don’t cry,’ Aleyshan said under his breath. ‘We don’t really have to… we’ll just make some noises and tell your father we did…’

She shook her head.

‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered back. ‘Zymphi, Papi’s dragonet, will report back to him. We can’t just pretend.’

He shook his head. That was the weirdest nonsense he had ever heard. Pets couldn’t speak. Even the world-famous talking parrots of Shah Morbrouz only repeated some random, memorised words. It was cute, but not useful.

The bewilderment must have been visible on his face, as Dalenka continued, ‘they have a telepathic connection. Papi will kill you, and lock me up in a dungeon if we even try to deceive him.’

Telepathic connection? Could that really be true? How?

Aleyshan wanted to ask the girl a thousand questions, but this didn’t seem like the right moment. Not with her being so upset, and so scared. His questions would have to wait until later. For now, he needed to make her feel safe with him.

He sighed. If it was, indeed true, Fedromir would certainly not hesitate to do exactly that. He was nothing but a criminal. A shrewd and unscrupulous miscreant with a crown.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, still in a low voice. ‘I suppose we’d best get this over with then. I’ll be careful and try not to hurt you.’

‘Thank you.’ Her lip quivered, but her voice—warm, light, and agile—sounded like the voice of a goddess.

With trembling hands, facing away from his bride, he started to unbutton his shirt.

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The journey back to Dalanthia—an endless chain of monotonous days sailing the oceans—brought some welcome respite. Neither he nor Dalenka were seasick, so Aleyshan had little reason to complain.

Indeed, he much preferred the tedium of their sea-travel over the excitement of life at court.

On the third day of their journey, as they sat on the deck side by side, silently staring out over the wide expanse of the waters, Aleyshan sighed. Being together, yet both so alone, felt wrong. Why couldn’t he at least be a friend to the girl he now called his wife?

‘Dalenka?’ he tried, not sure if she’d even answer. She’d barely spoken at all since that first night, and he had no reason to believe she would start talking now.

Yet, she looked at him with those big blue eyes, her gaze childlike and innocent. ‘Yes, my Lord?’

Lord. It felt like a punch to the stomach. The last thing he wanted was for her to think she was somehow less than him. A lesser human being.

‘Please, don’t call me so. I do not own you. You are my wife. My equal. Call me Aleyshan.’

‘Your… your equal?’ She blinked.

‘Yes, Dalenka. My equal. I want you to be happy. We may not have wanted to marry each other, but here we are, and the least I can do is give you a better life than the one you had before.’

She seemed to shrink inward, and in an even smaller voice than before, said, ‘how do you know?’

He reached out to touch her hand, then thought better of it and, with an awkward gesture, brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face.

‘I… I didn’t,’ he stammered. ‘I just assumed. Your father… he doesn’t seem like a very kind person to me.’

‘Kindness is an alien concept to him. As it is to most Morynthians.’ She shrugged almost imperceptibly, got up from her chair, and took a step forward. Then she paused briefly before she continued on towards the railing.

Aleyshan exhaled slowly. Sure, he’d wanted to have a conversation with Dalenka, but this wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind. He’d hoped to just make some small talk, so she might feel a little more at ease around him.

But he, clumsy fool that he was, had only made things worse. Clearly, the girl was even more miserable now. This was never going to work out.

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