Cirella continued to pace back and forth in her room. She replayed the day's events over and over, trying to find some inkling that such an event would occur. Her room was a spacious one, she was thankful for that. It allowed her to leave her children in a separate room further inside with the servants and give her enough quiet to think. She needed to think; her family was in danger and with the arrival of Antares Xerxes, that danger became all too real. She let out a small curse to herself. The young Stygian blamed herself for not pushing enough when King Barranagan was alive, if she had stressed more the importance of her husband being named heir, things might have been different. Now that was no longer possible. She could feel the death of the King; no doubt many throughout the castle would have felt it too. She paused from her incessant pacing and sat down.

  She poured herself a glass of wine. The deep red liquid slushed back and forth in her glass, in it she saw herself and her children and it chilled her to her core. No blood would be spilt, especially those of her children. She would do whatever it took to avoid the fate that had befallen so many of those of house Xerxes. As Cirella took a sip of her drink, the first thing she noticed was how cold the wine was, it slid down the back of her throat softly. With it, a myriad of flavors danced on her tongue, from cherry to grape, to strawberries to vanilla. Each flavor greater than the last, it put a smile on her face. She took another sip and the order of flavors changed with some added new ones. In her younger years she would sneakily drink from her fathers cup trying to name the flavors. And her father, after scolding her, would tell her of all the flavors that could be tasted in the wine. The king's slow death forced her to think of her own father. She missed him, more so now than ever. His guidance at a time like this would have been a welcomed sight, but he had long since departed the world to join the ancestors soon after the birth of her eldest Samara, some five years ago.

  The laughter of her children caught her attention, she looked over to see them playing in another room. She was thankful that Samara and Loukas both got along. Even Though they were still children and Loukas was only three years old, there was still plenty of time for them to despise each other but for now, she did not take it for granted. Their room was large, larger than most, possibly only the King's room could be larger. From the ceiling hung a chandelier covered in candles, the lights bright enough to illuminate most of the room. A large table was centered right above the chandelier and with it adorned four chairs, and still there was space for four more. Oftentimes the family had dinner in their rooms as it was something intimate that Cirella wished to have. The walls of the room were covered in tapestry telling great stories of ancient Xerxes warriors and witches. Some of them were stories she knew, others she did not. She gazed to the far wall and adorned on it was her favorite tapestry, it was the story of Lucila Xerxes. Her story was not one that was well known, yet it spoke to Cirella when her father first recounted it to her. In many ways it had shaped Cirella into the woman that she was today, and she hoped it would continue to shape her. It was a memory she would never wish to forget.

  In the corner was a doorway leading to her bedroom she shared with her husband. All she wanted was to crawl underneath the sheets and sleep; perhaps it was all a dream and tomorrow may yield better things. As the thought brought a smile to her face, she knew she could not sleep. Her entire word was on the verge of shattering before her eyes. Sleep would come later, not now. As she sipped her drink a third time, the door to her left opened and in entered her husband, Daimion Xerxes.

  "You would not beli-" Daimion began.

  "What are you doing here?" Cirella interjected.

  There was a small pause, a confused expression came over Daimion's face.

  "What do you mean? These are our chambers, my love."

  "I mean why are you not with the others?" Cirella said standing up. "The king just died, you should be by his side."

  "There was nothing for me to do, the funeral preparations are-" Daimion started.

  Cirella slammed her hand on the table.

  "Daimion, are you failing to grasp the situation? Your father, the king is dead. Your older brother has returned and your father has named him heir and you run away?"

  A look of confusion came across Daimion's face. He knew Cirella would have been in a bad mood but this was different, she seemed desperate.

  "I did not run away," began Daimion. " I asked them when preparations for the funeral would begin and they said it would take some time. I told them to alert me when they are complete. It is still a day."

  Cirella rubbed her forehead. Daimion had always been like this. It was not that he was slow, it was that he believed everyone else was dumber than him. He failed to grasp that things had begun to change and he was no longer in control of the situation. Cirella had thought eventually Daimion would grow out of this child-like self belief of himself, especially if he were to acquire the throne but even now during crucial moments he was still lacking. She wished to blame him but she could only have blamed herself. She should not have left him alone out there but she believed that he would be able to take command and finally show all those who doubted his candidacy for the throne. She tried to keep her composure.

  "My love," Cirella began. "The preparations for the funeral have long been completed. The important lords and ladies have long since arrived, and even some of the elders have arrived, along with the closest members of the king's family. There is no reason to delay the funeral another day."

  "But then...why?"

  Cirella approached Daimion.

  "Because they were asked to delay it. Antares must have asked them to delay it by a day. He has already been back for only a few moments and he has begun to usurp your authority. Yes he is the oldest, but you are the King's second in command, the lord regent. The start of the funeral should have been when you commanded it," Cirella finished.

  As she gazed into her husband's eyes, she could see things started to click. He was beginning to understand the full scale of his blunder. Without knowing it Antares had assumed authority and began to take control and with such ease the people followed.

  "Those accursed fools!" shouted Daimion.

  Cirella hushed him and took him away from the children should they overhear. This had nothing to do with them and if she could do it, they would never be involved in what was going on.

  "I am going back out there. The funeral will begin immediately," grumbled Daimion.

  "It is too late for that," Cirella added shaking her head. "Most have already retired to their rooms and the perception of you would be unfavorable right now."

  Daimion hung his head in shame and took a seat. Looking at him as he did, Cirella could not help but soften her mood. Daimion had neither been the biggest or the strongest nor the fastest. Yet she seemed to care for him greatly, even though their marriage was one of convenience rather than love. In the end the love did grow in it. She had grown tired of others looking down on Daimion for not being a warrior like his siblings, despite his best attempts to become one. It was king Barranagan that forbade him from picking up the sword which many looked at as a failure on Daimion's part rather than that of the king. Nevertheless, the more time they spent together the more their feelings for each other grew. Many believed had it not been for the arranged marriage, a woman like Cirella; as beautiful as she was fierce, would never have requited his love. The reason being Daimion even in his younger years was known as arrogant, seldom did he listen to reason from anyone. And young Cirella had such a venomous tongue for those who crossed her path.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Two outcasts from different groups forced together. Fate was often an interesting and willing participant in the lives of the Stygians. But despite all his faults, Daimion never faltered in his opinion of his wife. Many did not like Cirella's unmoving assertiveness and keen eye for the affairs of the throne. And never once did he ask her to change. To Cirella, that was the greatest act of love she had ever experienced. And in return she bore him two children.

  Children were something Cirella never thought she would have such a strong reaction towards but the day Samara was born and she held her in her hands, Cirella cried all night. In that moment she knew she would do anything for the little child and would die for her. It was the same feeling she felt for Loukas as well. Her two children and her husband meant everything to her and she would never allow anything to happen to them. From the corner of her eye a small child came stumbling into the arms of her husband.

  "Daddy don't be sad," Loukas asked in a soft tone.

  "My lady, I am so sorry! I tried-" a servant girl came running.

  Cirella raised her hand and the servant girl bowed lower, shivering. Humans were such fragile things Cirella thought.

  "My boy! Look at you, I am not sad. Where is your sister?" Daimion raised Loukas in the air, swinging him around.

  Just as if on cue, another small one approached them. She tried to walk with grace and this amused Cirella seeing her daughter attempt to carry herself with some confidence. Samara approached her father and hugged him.

  "Father?" Samara said softly.

  "Yes little one, do you want me to carry you too? Come here!" beckoned Daimion.

  Samara smiled and shook her head.

  "Samara, remember what we discussed. You need to use your words," urged Cirella.

  Samara looked up at her mother, her twilight eyes filled with so many questions, her black hair shone brightly even at such a time in the evening; small constellations making themselves known. Many believed she would be prettier than Cirella. Cirella agreed. Her brown skin glistened, she looked as fragile as glass to the touch. Cirella had always worried over her and how she would manage growing up in such a hostile environment, but it had been five years and Samara thrived and continued to grow. Although the biggest worry was her lack of speaking, whereas Loukas could never stop talking, Samara hardly said anything. In the beginning Cirella feared something was wrong, but in time with the guidance of lady Alena, Samara spoke more and more.

  "Ah Ciri leave her alone, when she is ready she will speak. Is that not right little one?" Daimion winked at her.

  Samara smiled and nodded. Daimion always spoiled her, Cirella thought. Samara gathered herself and began to speak.

  "Now...that g-grandsire... has gone to be... with the ancestors... are we in trouble... now that uncle...Antares is back... will you be...okay?" Samara asked.

  There was a moment of silence as Daimion searched for the right answer. Before he could speak, Cirella gave a look at the servant who quickly bowed and understood that any discussion of the events here would mean not only her death but the death of her entire family. She nervously took a step back.

  "I am perfectly fine little one." Daimion said looking at both his children. "There is nothing to worry about, the blood of Barranagan Xerxes flows through my veins. As it does through you both. We bear the mark of the greatest house on our backs, do not fear."

  Cirella was thankful that the children were young enough to still believe in empty promises. They were still at the age where it did not take much to lie to them. So it also made it easier to lie to themselves too. They were both satisfied with the answer and Loukas seemed to be fine, but for some reason when she looked at Samara, she could not shake the feeling that she seemed to not believe Daimion, but perhaps that was more so Cirella's own thoughts than her daughters. She clasped her hands together.

  "Alright, time for bed. It has been a long day, young princes and princesses must rest now."

  "Mother!" both Samara and Loukas said in unison.

  She shot them a look and they turned to their father.

  "Father!" again they said in unison.

  Daimion was going to challenge Cirella's command but as their eyes locked she shot him a look too. Daimion felt the temperature of the room fall a few degrees and laughed nervously.

  "Listen to your mother," Daimion exclaimed. "If you wish to grow up big and strong you must sleep."

  Both children grumbled but ultimately gave in to the request of their parents. The servant led both children to their rooms and once again the room fell into silence. Cirella was unsure of what she wanted to say, or if she should say anything at all. Instead she decided to pour herself another drink and one for Daimion. She offered him a glass.

  "Thank you," he said trying to smile.

  Cirella allowed the moment to linger.

  "If he becomes king...what then?" she asked, running a hand through his hair.

  "Even you doubt my candidacy?" responded Daimion.

  Cirella put a hand on his shoulder.

  "I said if, I still believe the elders will choose you. You have given so much over these last five years, while he was whoring and drinking himself to oblivion. You should be king," Cirella concluded.

  Even as the words left her mouth she did not believe them. Although none would admit it, Iliad had been on the decline for sometime now. A once proud nation she no longer could compete with the others, had no alliances and nary friendly neighbors to call upon when in need. Truthfully, it seemed the beginning of the end for house Xerxes. These were all concerns she had told her father winters ago before she was betrothed to Daimion and yet her father told her it was better to be the queen of a dying kingdom than no queen at all. Cirella had still had her doubts but now with the return of Antares, Iliad had to choose between a drunkard womanizer or a prince who did not have a king's bone in his body. If this was to be the end of her home and her people, so be it. But her children would not bear responsibility for this collapse. She would give them a life worth living. Daimion took a long sip of his drink and stared into it as though the liquid held the answers he was looking for.

  "I wish he was the one that died on that day," Daimion muttered to himself.

  The words dragged across the air scraping on the very walls. Cirella dared not speak, the curse spoken so casually by her husband lingered with malice. Very few Stygian traditions were known due to their secretive nature. But even the common folk knew the disdain the Stygians had for curses. For Daimion to speak so freely as such about his own blood brother. Cirella was glad such a mistake was only uttered in their presence, for the consequence of uttering a curse was death for their people. At that moment Daimion came to his senses and realized what he uttered, he looked at Cirella.

  "I did not- I mean I- I would not." Daimion said, stumbling over his words.

  "It is alright, you are tired, we all are. Let us retire for the evening my love," Cirella suggested.

  Daimion nodded and made his way to their chambers. He had not even been back only a few hours and already Antares influence was felt. It was the fog of suffering that followed wherever he went, thought Cirella. She was not uncomfortable because of how casually her husband had uttered a curse, she was uncomfortable at how she wished the curse to be true. It was as though an evil took hold of her, she desperately wanted Antares to leave, to reject the offer of the crown and go back to whatever pitiful hole he crawled from. His presence was a stain upon the legacy of House Xerxes.