In a misty forest, covered in rain and winds and the howls of beasts, a golden-haired woman ran. Her blue eyes shedding tears, her clothes torn, frayed, and stained with mud. Chest thumping, struggling for breath, legs as heavy as lead and pain clouding her mind. Yet, she ran with all her might. She had to make it. She had to get to it.
Looking behind her, the darkness chased after her, it clawed and tore itself into reality just to grab her. She struggled to keep her pace and the distance between them. She yelled, pushing past her limit, closing her eyes. Screaming to get as much out as possible, only to trip and fall. Her body skidded on the slick ground, it scrapped her fair white skin and--in the process--snagging her once beautiful blue and white dress on the exposed roots and thorns.
But it was enough. She knew it was enough. Looking up, she saw it at the top of the hill. It glowed orange and dark purple, its light pulsing with majestic power from its wet petals of gold and white. It was beautiful, feeling like a part of her soul. She didn’t know why she ran towards it or why it felt so important. It just was. Walking up the hill, she smelled the sweet aroma of nectar. It was so comforting and filled with a glorious ecstasy, the woman wished to forever bask in its touch.
But, she had to move forward. The flower was waiting for her.
With a roar, the darkness broke through, giving her a reason to make haste. She made it first, kneeling she covered the flower with her body, hoping her flesh and bones were enough to protect it from the endless hunger that chased after her.
The darkness took them both.
A thunderous noise broke Cecily out of her sleep. Looking around, she noticed that she had fallen blissfully asleep with her book open next to her. Yawning as she stretched out wide and got off her comfortable bed, making her way to her favorite perch. Her grogginess made way for the constant pitter-pattering noise coming from her window.
Looking out, the day was stormy, rain pouring relentlessly. Cecily sat in front of the clear glass window looking out towards the woods between her home and the mountain. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself dancing in the falling waters, doused completely under the cold and wetness.
She could smell the fresh scent of newly fallen rain, her sight made blurry by droplets clinging to her lashes. She sighed, aware that it would never be allowed. She had to act noble, as the daughter of the town’s Reeve. Staring out the window again, she watched as two cats played together under the rain. They were the baker’s wife’s loved little ones. She couldn’t help but sigh again. Even the cats had freedoms and privileges she only hoped to enjoy.
That was until the lingering remains of her nightmare struck her without mercy. It was a jumbled mess to her, just stretching images of green and gray. Then a single point of orange and dark purple. It made her headache.
A fist slammed onto the main door, echoing through-out the entire keep startling her. Cecily shook her head and got up in a hurry to see what could possibly be so important that someone would weather the rain to get up the hill. She rushed down the stairs. In the process, she caught glimpses of Father and a few guards, that was including the head guard.
Reaching the bottom, her father had already opened the massive door letting in a cold draft, a flurry of rain, and the fresh smell of ozone. Cecily hid near the doorway of the stairs, her ears begging to get closer to the source of the talking. The rain kept pattering, dousing the voices with its insistent noise. The messenger did not enter, just said his piece—a few short words in total—in a tone she could not catch, to her father, then left as quickly as he arrived.
Cecily did not hear much—only a single word to be truthful—but it was enough, just enough, to know what was said.
Running up the stairs, a broad smile on her face. She almost ran head-first into the head-maid of the Keep, Ulera, near the top of the stairway. The old lady probably would have passed away if they had crashed into one another. Apologizing profusely, Cecily quickly backed away before the Head-Maid could question her—her trademark frown was growing into dangerous heights—then took off towards her room near the end of the hallway.
Reaching her door, she entered making sure to close it slowly lest she got caught again for slamming her door shut in excitement. She jumped onto her bed. Her smile never left her face, eyes glimmering in mischief. Cecily had triumphed, she knew exactly what was going to happen or so she believed.
“…nobles…”
That was all she heard, but it was enough to paint an entire scene. Soon enough, the nobles of these lands would arrive and with them will come their magic. All nobles had magic, it’s what made them…well, nobles—special in their own unique way.
Laughing to herself, she imagined all the tricks and powers they had. Floating objects, super-strength to match an ox, and even the rare case of elemental use—those were always the most entertaining.
Cecily was jittery, unable to stay rooted in her spot next to her father. Her blood surged, and mind ran without stopping at what the nobles were going to bring this time around. Would it be magical swords? Tiny dragons? Or maybe even a griffin? She didn’t know, but what she did know was a simple truth—nobles never went anywhere without entertainment. It was the very essence of who they are, why else would they carry around jesters, bards, and even tamed beasts everywhere they went?
“Stay still, Cecily,” her father urged.
“How can I father? Nobles are coming,”
Her voice sounded wistful and expectant. Turning her fathers resolve into nothing, he sighed. Cecily grabbed her father’s hand—grizzled and calloused from years of hard work and the sword—and squeezed tightly. She looked up into his eyes—deep and old gray—and smiled lovingly. Her father was always significantly worried for her, though exceedingly irritating when she was in search of adventure, it had its charm.
“Cecily,” grandmother called, a hint of steel in her voice. “You better stay still, girl, or you will find yourself on my lap with a broken oar in my hands.”
“Grandmother, I’m almost as tall as Father, and he is much taller than you,” she said with a smirk. “You can’t spank me anymore.”
The old woman simply glared at her.
Her grandmother’s stare caused goosebumps to crawl down her spine. She was scary, the scariest Cecily had seen. It made no difference who it was if she caught you within her sights you had better be prepared for a verbal thrashing. If old age made people turn like that, she hoped to never live long enough to experience it.
Her grandmother harrumphed, and her wrinkled face turning into a wicked smile. “You think I don’t spank your father still?” Turning away, she tapped her cane on the hard stone floor of the road, grumbling under her breathe about the cloudy and dull sky and how her joints were killing her.
Cecily stared at her for a few long seconds before looking back towards her father. Her mouth was open wide with disbelief. That couldn’t be true, could it? Try as she might, she could not, for the life of her, get rid of the image of her father—fully grown and suited in thick leathers and furs and a woolly cloak—bent over Grandmother’s knee as she spanked him deaf to his pleas. It was not a pretty sight, to say the least, especially considering her father had scars on his face making him look no-nonsense.
“Father,” she called experimentally.
He wouldn’t reply, face forward and stoic.
Cecily called again this time elbowing him lightly, maybe he didn’t hear her the first time. Still, that garnered no response. Again she tried to elbow him—this time with a bit more force than necessary—all he did was grunt in response. Scoffing, she continued to stare at him, fully resolved to get an answer.
“Cecily, the nobles,” he suddenly said, “They’re here, look.”
She knew he was trying to distract her, but god-damn it, it worked. Swiveling her head, she saw the gates to the city open slowly from the front of the Keep—it was up to the hill near the back of the town. Its creaking hinges making enough noise for them to hear that far out. Once it was opened fully by the town guards, the procession began. The first to enter were lines of long-robed women with large baskets in their hands full of flowers. They covered the crowds, gathered behind soldiers and guards, as they moved along and towards the Keep.
After them were the nobles, they were easily distinguishable with their lavish clothes and rare breeds of horses and beasts. The most ostentatious of them all was the one leading them, probably the head of a household. He rode on a massive golden lion with a magnificent mane around his head. It roared and stomped and growled at everything near it, even the other nobles’ mounts. The man riding wore a golden suit of armor shining brighter than fire, placed next to him was a long spear of silver, green, blue, and gold.
They were a spectacle without a doubt, beyond even Cecily’s fevered dreams, but she couldn’t focus on any of it longer then she had already. They were nothing but foggy images dancing about at the peripherals, unnoticed. Her eyes were locked staring, unable to look away from the piercing hazel eyes that shared her astonishment.
She felt something elbow her, once then twice more. She responded with non-committal sound.
Her father’s voice called out to her in a harsh whisper. When she didn’t respond, he pinched the back of her hand. Jumping in her spot, her eyes broke away, finally taking the situation in its entirety. The nobles were almost at the front of the Keep where they waited. She felt her stomach twist at the fear of not showing deference to them.
Quickly following her father, she fell to her knees, and head lowered, staring at the solid stone under her. Large shadows loomed over her, the nobles’ mounts were even large up close.
“Reeves Fallaghan, it is a great pleasure to see our distant lands thriving so,” a deep voice with a graceful accent called from above. It was filled with power and meaning.
“With great pleasure do I take this holy calling,” her father responded, his voice deeper, yet there was no power reverberating his very words like the noble.
“Excellent, lead us on to our temporary lodging. Though inadequate for our station…it is far better than I had expected,”
“We aim to please,” her father responded as he got up slowly without once looking the noble in the eye. He led them into the Keep, the entire convoy following him past the kneeling men and women without so much as a word.
Except for one steed, stopping in front of Cecily. Her heart fluttered as she recognized the black horse’s sturdy legs or more importantly, the person who rode on the horse. Looking up, her eyes witnessed two twinkling stars coated in honey stare back at her. His ocean of black hair cascaded down from his head in beautiful waves.
For the longest seconds, but woefully the shortest, of her life it lasted until a radiant smile—teeth white as alabaster—graced his face. Cecily felt herself swoon and face burn in the hottest flames.
He too seemed to redden the longer it lasted, something she took great pride in. Someone as…angelic as he was blushed for her.
“Bhaltair! Hurry, the winds are picking up. I don’t want to be caught in the rain again,” someone called with the same accent as the leader.
Cecily didn’t dare to look around lest she loses this moment forever. Bhaltair, it was fitting, to say the least. Powerful and elegant, it was a perfect name for the perfect person.
He was the first to break eye contact, breaking the spell between them. He looked away towards the gate of the Keep and nodded.
“Yes, brother,” he said. Turning back towards Cecily, he smiled again. “May I have the honor of hearing your name?” He was soft-spoken, accent not as thick as his brother’s.
“Cecily,” she breathed out wistfully.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful moon,”
With that, he rode off into the Keep with his brother, leaving Cecily to melt all alone. That was until her grandmother interrupted her fanciful dreams with a poke of her cane. Cecily groaned but kept her eyes on his retreating form. Sighing wistfully, she couldn’t help but ask her Grandmother.
“Isn’t he just wonderful?”
“No!” her grandmother screamed.
Startled and afraid, Cecily looked at her as though she were a monster. Either that or she was just blind. You never knew with older people what could be going on, they were too stubborn and mule-headed to tell anyone anything. Her grandmother had a dark expression on her face, frown, and all.
“Listen here and listen good, granddaughter,”
For the first time in what could have been years, her grandmother—the bane of the Keep— called her granddaughter. Cecily’s shock showed on her face causing the frown to deepen significantly. Unable to respond intelligently, she returned to her true and tried method of non-committal sounds. They’ve kept her afloat so far.
“You stay away from that boy, do you hear me? Stay away from him. Nothing good comes from those nobles. Nothing good,” grandmother said as she tapped her cane on the solid stone floor, a habit that seemed unbreakable. “He will eat you up. Once finished, he will spit you out. We’re of common birth, granddaughter. We won’t last around them, no one does.”
“You don’t understand, grandmother. There was love in his eyes as they were in mine. Times have changed for the better, your olden days have passed and with them the long tales of dragons and sea monsters,” Cecily said. Committing the last sight of Bhaltair as his figure disappeared into the Keep. Her grandmother’s words were but an afterthought.
“Times may change, but people don’t, Cecily. People never change,” grandmother said as she left her to stand there alone, helped by the servants to enter the Keep and towards her room.
Cecily followed after them, her mind filled with fantasy.
For the next three weeks, Cecily and Bhaltair indulged in their relationship. As all love birds in the first of their time, their hands could not be kept from each other. The first week, they secretly met in the gardens of the Keep, the woods behind town, and even in the town itself—though disguised in mask and cloak.
In those hours alone, all they did was speak to each other, revealing secrets about themselves, all in hopes to learn who the other person truly was. The following weeks were the first step into a physical relationship, experimental for Cecily but not so much for Bhaltair. Gradually it developed into something both people could not do without.
Cecily spoke to her lover about her struggles, her father’s unwillingness to allow her to adventure and learn of the world—though she took swordsmanship behind his back, taught by the head guard—his extreme worry and love for her. Bhaltair spoke—though Cecily found it hard to understand she listened quietly—about his difficulties opening his well of power.
How strong he would be once he’d achieved that, he spoke of fantastical tales of his father and brother carrying boulders the size of a wagon and battling monsters through and about. That had Cecily imagining him carrying her around like a princess from the books.
But, most importantly, to them both, they spoke of their desire for these moments to last an eternity. Moments like these, though far and few in between, were the happiest either had been in a long time.
On one afternoon, Bhaltair sat in their usual spot with a worried face, looking almost lost and infirm. She asked again and again for him to speak to her, but try as she might, he would not open his mouth. That is until she denied him of herself until his lips loosened and heart softened. He spoke, how was he not to?
Cecily learned on that eve how difficult their love would be, but she told him that patience and perseverance were virtues she took a calling too—at least from that moment on she did.
He smiled, happy for the first time that day. He hugged her hard and wouldn’t let go.
Their relationship could not be made public lest his father demand they separate. They had to wait, and he must propose as any virtuous noble would, they were its epitome after all. They scheduled for the day before the nobles caravan was planned to leave, giving him full control over the town and its neighboring hamlets and mines. It would be Bhaltair’s to manage, and Cecily’s to indulge in.
As they separated to clean up for dinner, he reminded her again and again of how important it happened this way. Otherwise, what they had could not exist. But, Cecily took little heed in his words, men were always overly wary and worried. Their minds always seemed to find the worst scenarios as the most probable.
Finished with her cleaning, she ran to her room, choosing a beautiful flowing dress of blue and white—her father had, many times, said it made her amber eyes and golden hair to stand out—and tied her hair back into a tail. Rushing out of her room, she found the head maid standing outside her door with a brush and a whole menagerie of strings and jewelry. She didn’t say a word but instead, just smiled kindly at Cecily who in turn scowled.
“They hurt a lot, Ulera. And make me feel like I have a big head,” Cecily said in a mumbled groan.
The head-maid, understanding her quiet words, nodded, her smile never faltering. Instead, she simply guided Cecily back into her room.
It took a long and arduous thirty-seven minutes—Cecily counted every second —until the Ulera finished her ministrations. Leaving her with a beautifully braided set of hair, tied with ribbons and ties and even gems and rubies.
“Finally,” Cecily exclaimed.
But before she could get away, Ulera grabbed hold of her arm at the elbow. In a sweet old voice, light of tone and filled with happiness, the head-maid spoke to Cecily.
“You’ve forgotten again, Milady. We are going to the ball today with your lover’s sisters and mother,”
Cecily turned red at the mention of Bhaltair. She stuttered and stumbled her words, trying to convince Ulera that she had no such thing, especially not with a noble. Yet, in the end, she found herself begging the old maid not to tell anyone. Her father would be furious, and grandmother would eat her hide for a fortnight if not longer.
“Don’t worry much, Milady. Your secret is in an unending well. Oh, how beautiful you’re going to look on the day you get married…I-I just hope to be alive to witness it,” Ulera said, finishing off in nothing more than a whisper.
“Will you be well in a few weeks?” Cecily said in a smile so wide her jaw began to ache.
Ulera’s eyes widened in disbelief, then a smile matching Cecily’s graced her wrinkled face. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She sniffed and coughed, trying to hide them.
“Truly?”
“Yes, now it would not do well for us to keep my future mother-in-law waiting, would it,” With that, Cecily turned around with a flourish and led the way out until she remembered she didn’t know where to head to exactly. Turning back towards Ulera, the head-maid had a patient smile on her face.
“This way, Milady,”
The ball was held in a theater her father had built just for these occasions. Unlike the Keep—which was made to be a defensive juggernaut—this building was made to look lavish and elegant. It was shaped in beautiful arches and domes, covered in layers of bright colors, and even had clear glass windows to see out from. The Nobles’ found it satisfactory, as were most things in the growing town her father had built for the Lord.
For the first time, in the lives of those who lived here, they were in the same room as the owners of the lands they tilled their existences on—even if they never got the chance to actually see them up close. As for the nobles, it was a statement of power and strength as they showed off their magic, much to the delight of everyone else. They’d show how easy it was for a female child—thin, short, and young—to pick stones ten men would struggle to budge or run faster than an arrow launched at the same time.
Cecily saw it in another light, with every feat they committed she saw Bhaltair in their steed. He was the one carrying the boulder, showing off his strength to impress her. The one speeding to and fro to gather wild and unique flowers to please her. The day would have been perfect, another in a succession of weeks, but the heavens had other plans for her.
“Look who it is, the high and mighty Cecily,” a cruel voice said from behind her. “Daydreaming in the middle of a ball,”
“She thinks she’s better than us commoners to dance and join in the fun,” another said.
The third just laughed like this was the funniest joke she’d ever heard.
Cecily sighed, shoulders slumping. Looking back without a smile, she studied the three before her. Melinda, Jaclyn, and Henna, the three idiots—Cecily had come to call them—were persistent in their stupidity. Always looking for some issue to cause or simply make her life hell. Cecily hoped they were actually naive enough to attack her, but with only words, they were always in safe standings.
“What is it now? I don’t have time for your banter,” Cecily tried her best to channel her grandmother. From the way Melinda smiled—her red hair dancing on her head and black dress matching her heart—she probably failed.
“Cecily,” Melinda said in a sickly sweet voice. “I thought we were friends, don’t you want to see me,” her large and supple lips pouted as the other two giggled like hyenas.
“No, we are not friends, Melinda,” she said her name with as much hate as she could put into her voice. Cecily saw her left eye twitch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do with my life than waste it with any of you.”
With that, Cecily turned around and began walking away. Leaving the three stooges to their own fumes.
“I heard you had a lover,” Melinda suddenly shouted.
Cecily froze in her spot. Her heart skipped a beat. Stomach began to twist and turn into itself. How did they know? Did Ulera break her trust? No, not sweet Ulera, she would never…would she?
“I bet he is short, fat, and ugly,” Jacklyn said.
“A-and he doesn’t have training in anything…” Henna added, “That’s a good one right,” she whispered to Melinda.
Cecily didn’t hear what Melinda replied with, but that wasn’t important. They didn’t know who, they only guessed based on rumor. With a smirk, she turned around to see Melinda with one to match, though her’s faltered as Cecily faced them.
“He is tall, fit, and utterly handsome. Oh and Henna,”
Henna answered with a raised eyebrow.
“That wasn’t a good one, I’d even say it was a terrible one,”
All three faces darkened at the same time. Their symmetry was play like, of all the bad they had stuffed into their tiny bodies, they had that one thing going for them. Melinda’s snarl was the worse of the three, though. Cecily knew her to hate being beat in anything, incredibly so. But that meant the worst of her was coming out, she did not want to be here to witness any of it. But, before she could escape, though, the tiny lady exploded.
“He may be the perfect man, but he is just using you like the wench you are,” Her voice was high pitched, painful on the ears. “He doesn’t love you and never will. What does he tell you? To let no one know? That he will marry you soon? Ha, lies! They’re all lies! After he is done using you, he will throw you away like the dirty rag you are…” Melinda continued without end, attracting an audience.
Cecily walked away in a hurry, biting her lips, she knew better but …
Cecily hugged him tightly in the market square. Nuzzled into him as they were wont to do alone—the way he loved it. She took a deep breath smelling the sweet aroma of nectar he happily doused himself in. She basked in his imposing figure. Looking up with a smile, her heart caught. It tinged with worry. The whispers of the bustling market all but forgotten at the moment.
She knew this was wrong, but the constant whispering and gossips had finally made her cave in. Or at least that was what she told herself to be convinced of this course of action. In reality, it was her fear and insecurity that forced her to this.
Her promise to not make this public was all but forgotten in her downward spiraling cycle of negative thoughts. The dread of being alone, thrown away by someone far above her station haunted her nightly since the incident at the ball. How could she not think about it? How could she not dwell over the fact that if he left her then and there, she could do nothing to change it.
In the end, in her desperation, she committed herself to this.
Bhaltair had a surprised face, eyes wide and mouth even more so. She felt his hands shake, tears blooming at the edges of his hazel eyes. The pain was evident in his being as he struggled to cope with what had just happened. He mouthed one word to her, and it broke her heart.
“Why?” he whispered again, only for her to hear. “I love you, don’t you feel the same?”
Cecily stuttered, unable to put coherent words together. This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen. How had it become like this? Why did she listen to the devil’s raging cries of desperation and approval? She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, just to herself…yet, she had gone too far.
“I-I…please,” Cecily begged.
For long seconds Bhaltair did not reply. His head lowered unlike ever before. He looked up. Eyes dull and dark. There was no forgiveness in them, none to be had or given. With a snarl, he pushed her away with incredible strength—more than she had witnessed from him till then. His lips quivered, but she knew he was set to what was coming next.
“No, please,” She begged again from the ground. Her beautiful blue and white dress stained in dirt and mud.
“Touch me not, commoner. Exalted, I am to be in your presence,” his tone was sharp and formal—a lord speaking to his peasants—as a light haze of orange settled around him. “Touch me not again, or your wrists shall be severed from their mothers. It is only your due to your father’s place do I give you this small mercy.” With those words, he turned away with a huff of wind, leaving her in the dirt to stew in her own stupidity. He closed the door to his wagon, crushing the metal door behind him.
Cecily tried to shout for him to stop and listen, but his back felt too imposing to call. The streets were dead silent as she cried, then sobbed in her spot, the only sound was the cruel high pitched voice that led her to this.
