thousand names to each book, all deaths of war.”
Harris looked to the wood she was fiddling with,
he slowly reached over and held her hands still, a
shock of warmth ran through her blood. “I don’t like
that all those out there are numbers, but they are, this
is the reality.” Harris let her hand slip from his; he sat
back in his chair. He stretched back with his hands on
the back of his head. “The commander has different
tactics; fear is my biggest.”
Branwen was fascinated, his way of talking seemed
to intrigue her. As he stretched, she could not help but
look to his muscular chest. She was pulled into his
world. A world he very much controlled.
“I want to learn, Harris,” she said with a widening
smile, “but in order for me to do that, I feel like I
need to see it.”
Immediately he bolted forward and dropped his
arms, placing them on the desk he softly insisted,
“That will never happen. If you think, I will ever allow
you onto the field, you’re more insane than me, and
that is impossible.”
“I just think that if I could experience it for myself,
see it for myself,” she quickly defended.
“No!” Harris snapped, he softly said with raised
brows, “I will never allow it.”
Branwen sat back in shock. “Why? Even just to
the cliff.”
Harris looked awkward, he seemed to try and
distance himself. “You’re not a fighter, Branwen, the
cliffs are as dangerous as the ground at times, I have
been ambushed there myself.” Harris leant forward;
he gave an icy cold look to the desk. “The Atlanti are
creatures, they prey on pretty things like you,
Branwen, they would use you, cut you deeper than the
thickest sword, they take everything from you, before
taking your life.” He broke his glare and looked to
Branwen, warmth filled his eyes. “I would never put
you through that.”
She could see the concern he held, the pure look
of trepidation he tried to hide was completely
transparent to Branwen. He knew the Atlanti well, he
had studied and killed them for years.
“I won’t ask again,” she reassured. Her brows
pinched in the middle as she mentioned, “I do need
to learn though.”
Harris replied, “And I will gladly teach you.” His
voice seemed to break, “from here, I can teach you
everything you need to know, about war, about tactics,
politics,” he looked to his desk and up towards her
from under his brow. “Pleasing a husband.” His smile
grew from the corner of his mouth.
Branwen laughed, he seemed in a constant fervid
mood. “I’m sure I can do that on my own,” she said
with a joking tone of disapproval.
Getting back to work, the hot stone room began to
darken as night began to sweep the land. Silence had
fallen in the castle Marrion, the scratching from
Harris’s quill was the only thing that could be heard.
Branwen’s silent footsteps did not even seem to wake
the dust on the floor.
A grumble came from Harris’s desk as he asked in
a low tone, “How?”
Stepping from the shadows, having cleaned some
of the shelves, Branwen asked, “Pardon?”
Harris lifted his head; he slowly placed his quill
down into its pot. He gave a look of strange curiosity.
“Earlier, you said you knew how you would please
a husband,” his brow began to furrow. A cool breeze
drifted in through the window, brushing Branwen’s
long blue dress as it did. She looked confused as she
stepped closer to him. He raised his brows, his mouth
seemed to curl at the side. “I’m just curious, as an
untouched, you need to understand that perfection in
pleasing, it takes practice.”
Branwen would not be convinced by his clear
attempt to charm her. “I will find my way.” She feared
Harris, it was the only time she had ever thought of
her chastity, his company provided a warm embrace,
she wanted to enjoy it, but she knew how dangerous
that could become for her.
Harris gave a low grumbling laugh. “What are you
afraid of?” shaking his head, he added, “I’m not here
to bed you, Branwen, I have far too much work to
do.”
“Work? last turn you were willing to die, not afraid
of death…at all.”
“Well, let’s be honest, if your mother found out,
then within the turn, I would suffer a fate worse than
death.”
Branwen nodded as she replied, “This is true,” she
walked towards his desk and lowered herself onto the
chair opposite, “I’m afraid of many things, I’m not
afraid of that, but I just want to make my own choice
on this.” The soft amber glow from the candles on his
desk lit her face, the fire flowers in the room seemed
to enchant the atmosphere. “I have lived a life of being
told what I can and cannot do. I was sent here, I was
sent to Assanin, I was sent to Elmoor. I have never
chosen anything, even until I came here, what I wore
was dictated to me, I want to retain my choice.”
Harris respected her choice, but still he wanted her
to be sure her choice was the right one. “If ever you
change your mind,” he softly offered, “you know
where to find me. I make a wonderful teacher.”
She gave a flirtatious smile towards him from the
corner of her mouth, her eyes softened. She had
learned much about him, but still she wanted to know
more. With a soft, high tone she asked, “Why do you
do it?” Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.
Harris held his head up. “Pleasure,” he said with a
wide smile.
Branwen was not convinced, softly she asked,
“Why do you really do it?”
Silence filled the room as he looked into her eyes,
the deep pools of blue held honesty, trust, and
innocence. At the age of twenty-eight, Harris had seen
a lot in his young life, he knew that Branwen was only
twenty-one, her innocence and naivety was
understandable to him.
“Harris?” she nudged him to reply, “I know it’s for
more than just pleasure, what is it?”
Shaking his head and ending his stare, he blinked
as he looked around the room, he seemed
uncomfortable, she had hit a nerve. “I have many
reasons, Branwen,” he seemed to plead as he stood,
“stay innocent.”
Hobbling into the room he took a large leather-
bound book from the shelf behind him. It thudded as
it hit his desk. “I’m just interested,” said Branwen. Her
overwhelming innocence seemed to spark a fear in
Harris, he would not kick her from his bed, but he
knew what he would face if she took it too far.
“Interest, it will get you into trouble,” he warned as
he sat back at his desk looking directly towards the
&nb
sp; book.
Branwen smiled as she sat back, her luscious
caramel lips seemed to pout as she looked towards
him, something was stirring.
“I might like trouble,” she said with a faint whisper.
Harris could sense the danger that she brought to
him, but he was the commander, he was well versed in
all forms of womanly trouble.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Harris warned, he was
trying his best to ward her off, “besides, I can’t tell
you.” He sat back in his chair; gradually he leant
forward, he gently murmured, “I would have to show
you.”
She shook her head and sat back, breaking the
flirtatious manner she made her way back towards the
bed. She had tested him, she had, however, taken it
too far. Still, she wanted to know more about his
urges, his overwhelming need fascinated her. She had
never experienced the touch of a man, that was the
way she wanted to keep it; or so she thought.
As the night lingered, Branwen was ready to retire
to her room. “I will be here in the morning, for
lessons,” said Branwen as she tidied the last few bits
away.
Harris was standing beside his wardrobe, he
removed his tunic, revealing his perfect manly form;
his battered and torn body showed the scars from a
lifetime of turmoil.
“Which lessons?” he flirtatiously asked.
“Oh, come on, Harris,” Branwen gave a fleeting
laugh, “I think we have established that this will be
strictly professional.”
Beginning to unbuckle his belt, Harris gave his last
chance to Branwen. “Just think about what I’ve
offered, and remember, I can teach you,” his voice
became tender, “and keep you pure.”
Branwen furrowed her brow, she would have
asked what he meant, but before she could speak, she
was startled by a loud knock at the door. Branwen
spun to the door.
“I’ll ask you to get that,” said Harris.
Branwen walked to the heavy wooden door; a
clunk of wood sounded as she opened it. On the other
side, peering in, was a young red head, her pale skin
shone in the light from Harris’s chambers. Her slim
body was nothing like Branwen’s, she was thin, small
and perfect, she seemed tiny compared to Branwen.
Her long curls of red hair cascaded down her back,
she wore a purple sheer dress, her nipples could be
seen clearly through the flowing fabric.
Branwen stepped back, inviting her in. “I think it’s
for you, Harris,” she awkwardly said. She looked back
to the small woman. “I’m just leaving,” she softly said,
her wavering smile was being watched by Harris.
“Oh,” said the small woman as she looked into
Branwen’s dark blue eyes. Her voice was a wonderous
delight, “What a shame.”
Branwen stepped from the room, she kept the
door slightly ajar. She watched to see the woman run
towards Harris, Branwen crept around the door;
slowly, she began to close it, she saw Harris’s embrace
with the woman as she reached up to kiss him, he gave
a quick glance to the door, he knew she was there as
he saw the door close.
A burning jealousy seemed to hit her, she had
never known that feeling before, she wanted to be that
woman, she wanted to feel his touch, but she wanted
to remain untouched.
The palace of Cronnin was in uproar. The small
white stones on the road away from the palace
crunched as the king left with his horse back guard.
His carriage sped from the gates. With a council left
on the steps to the palace utterly bewildered, Librye
stood in Brenin’s chambers. She peered out of the
window and watched him leave. The second she saw
the carriage pass through the gate, she felt empty.
Mord knelt by her side with an arm around her
shoulder.
“How long will he be gone for?” asked Librye,
looking to Mord for answers.
Mord had no answer for her, “I’m sure,” she
began, she looked to the books in the chambers, “by
the time you finish the bottom, he will be on his way
back, by the time you reach the other side, he will be
here.” Her soft motherly voice helped Librye, she
never knew her mother, she knew nothing of her
family or where she was from, she did not even know
what she was. Mord was her family now, and Brenin,
the staff in the kitchens, and the council were her
disapproving uncles who she seemed to enjoy
annoying. For now, a family member would be
missing, as Brenin rode towards Marrion.
That night brought loneliness for Librye. She had
spoken to the stars that night, only to hear distant
whispers of the kings passing, it depressed her. Lying
in her bed, she looked to the concave ceiling, her eyes
followed the swirls of the ceiling, until finally she was
deep in sleep.
A darkened room awaited her. Dark grey stone
walls surrounded her; a single window was to the left.
The black floor was cold on her feet as she looked
down, her shoes were gone, as she stood in a tattered
cream dress. Feathers seemed to surround her, she
looked to the window, she could hear the rattling
“Shush,” she heard from the corner. A small boy
stood in the shadows, dark blond hair framed his
delicate face, he was no older than six, he too wore
tattered clothes. “It’s alright, sweet, I’ll protect you.”
His voice calmed her; it soothed her thoughts. She
had not seen him since leaving the camps.
A banging came from the right of her, as she
looked, she could see a large brown door. A bolt
pulled from the outside, the door burst open, five
large men burst into the room, they headed straight for
her, terrified she screamed herself awake.
“Librye!” called Mord, “wake up,” she softly said
as she sat on the side of her bed. Librye flittered her
eyes as she woke, “it’s gone breakfast time,” said
Mord, shocked that Librye had not yet woken.
To Librye it felt as though she had slept for no
more than a few minutes. As she leant forward, she
felt a searing hot pain in her back. Her mouth curled
down. “My back hurts.”
Mord slowly untied her nightgown, she pulled it
down and looked to the lumps on her back, bluing
and blacking bruises began to show.
“Oh sweetheart,” she sighed. The look of pain on
Mord’s face told Librye all she needed to know.
Having spent most of the day in bed, Librye opted
to spend the rest of the day in the palace, exploring as
much as she could. She knew the palace well, but still
there were places she was yet to explore. The winter
was leaving, tiny buds on the trees in the gardens had
started to appear. The mornings seemed colder, but
bri
ghter. The snow was being pushed up from the
bottom as the small daffodil’s and hyacinths began to
show. Dieredh was fast approaching, the season of the
new had begun to show. Librye’s interest had turned
more towards the palace, the secret tunnels and
abandoned towers offered her a place to play; a place
to explore.
The west wing was where most of the council
rooms were, their bed chambers were often
extravagant, lavish, and silent. The corridor of each of
the bottom wings led towards a tower at the end,
Librye had explored almost all of them. The south
tower housed the bells, used to mark festivals, feasts
and celebrations. The north tower was used as the
guard’s station. Although most of the guards had their
quarters within the walls surrounding the city, the
Kings Guard were housed in the tower. The west
tower was the pigeon keeper’s loft.
The east tower, however, she was yet to explore.
The following morning began with breakfast in the
kitchens, the staff were busy preparing for the day.
Librye sat silently at the centre table, listening to any
gossip which was always rife in the kitchen. With her
meal eaten, she jumped from her chair and joyfully
made her way towards the door.
“Where you off to today, my lady?” asked Gethen,
as he rolled his bread dough.
Librye turned, she smiled at Gethen with her head
held high. “I’m exploring.”
“You be careful,” warned Katryna, as she walked
past with a bowl of potatoes, “if the council were to see
you exploring the walls, they’d have you locked in.”
Librye’s smile grew. “I’ve seen worse.”
Hopping from the kitchens Librye made her way
towards the east tower. “Strange girl,” mentioned
Gethen, “lovable, but strange.”
Curiosity played a major part in Librye’s life. She
was curious about every secret the palace held, and
whilst she wanted to sit and read, she also needed to
fulfil her practical curiosity. The long green carpet in
the west wing guided her towards the large brown
wooden door to the end. Pictures of kings and queens
passed all lined the corridor, the doors to the guest
rooms were silent. Noises from the council halls did
not seem to reach her there, it was overwhelmingly
quiet.
The large brown door towered above her, her tiny