Laurylhall Castle, Laureth


This castle was a stunning contradiction to the palace in Walraven; its towers, buildings, roads all constructed of white, aged limestone. On the left side of the castle stood Annelie Mount, its head covered in light pink snow. Surrounding the exposed side of the Laurenian stronghold was a thick, enormous wall of equally white limestone that had not been breached since its construction. Facing the castle was the Nura Mountains capped in orange, yellow, pink, and a rosy red, the fiery sun setting behind them. The once blue sky was now the color of the snow on the mountains. The exposed face of the castle offered a view of the indigo horizon in the distance, a handful of silver stars sprinkled carefully across the darkening fragment of sky.

On the open terrace of the castle was a garden of roses in varying colors: scarlet, violet, magenta, indigo, lavender. Walking quietly through the rows of blossoms was the eighteen-year-old princess, Charlotte-Elizabeth. Her slender, elongated figure was dressed in a formfitting midnight blue gown with long, billowing white sleeves, the hem and neckline embroidered with delicate silver spirals of thread. At first glance, her hair was a light blonde, but upon closer examination, it was truly the color of wheat with tiny streaks of caramel and honey. In her hands was a deep lavender rose.

The last rays of sunlight struck the young royal’s crown silver crown adorning her head, giving her the appearance of a timeless angel. Her absent blue-green eyes gave evidence to her deep thinking; they added to her beauty, even if she didn’t think so.

Quick footsteps echoed across the aged and well-worn limestone walkway, announcing the presence of a twelve-year-old Laurenian native boy. The princess looked quickly over her shoulder at the child, noting the fear flashing in his plain brown eyes as he drew closer. She smiled uneasily at him, certain he was a bringer of ill news.

“My-My lady,” the boy gasped, “I must-must tell you-“ He broke off his sentence and grasped his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

“Easy lad,” she said softly. “Take a deep breath, then tell me.”

He did so; extending his slim right arm, he gave her a parchment letter. “Princess, I was ordered to give you this message by Sir Erie Jamesen.”

Nodding, she sent the youngster back home. Cautiously, she broke the red seal on the parchment and read its contents. “No,” she gasped after a few moments. The rose slipped through her loose grasp, the letter following suit. Upon collision with the limestone, three petals broke away from the bud and instantly turned gold.
From behind the princess, a rich, musical baritone smoothly suggested, “Make a wish, Charlotte.” Expecting to see her fiancé, she turned unsuspectingly with a smile on her full pink lips. However, it was not her beloved; it was far worse. Before her stood the mastermind to overthrow the Laurenian monarchy, Lord Erik Saffron of Walraven.
Before Charlotte could draw a breath, the dark lord drew a silver dagger from his belt and smiled cruelly. “I would strongly advise against screaming, princess.” His eyes flashed dangerously in the fading twilight as he stepped towards the terrified girl.
“H-How did you get here, Saffron?”
“I transported here via horse,” he said smartly. Smiling lazily, he added, “May I see your precious letter?”
Kneeling, the devious man snatched the “precious letter” from Charlotte-Elizabeth’s white slipper-clad feet. Quickly scanning the writing, he read aloud, “’Charlotte, my spies have detected a secret plot to overthrow your monarchy. Saffron is the leader; you must be cautious. Erie.’ How sweet,” Saffron sighed dramatically. Crumpling the letter and standing proudly before Charlotte, he chuckled. “Pity his warning arrived too late.”
Flicking the dagger tip to the pale throat of the princess with an olive-skinned hand, he chuckled again. “With your parents disposed of and you as my wife, I shall be the true ruler of your pathetic peace-loving kingdom.”
“Your arrogance is your weakness, my lord.”
Erik applied more pressure to her neck with his blade, narrowing his eyes. “Your overconfidence is yours,” he sneered. The dagger pushed farther into the soft skin of Charlotte’s neck, eventually drawing a drop of precious blood. Glancing down, the dark lord smiled. “And I half expected it to be blue.”
“Flattery does nothing for me, Saffron.” She took him by surprise and quickly pushed Erik’s own dagger against his throat, smiling. Erik snarled and harshly shoved the princess to her knees in rage. He kneeled before her and sadistically grinned with his dagger in hand.
“I swear, I will-“
“Don’t waste your breath, Saffron, for you have precious few left,” a handsome tenor voice commanded from the shadows.
Charlotte’s eyes flamed up in hope. “Erie?”
Stepping into the faint starlight with the hint of moonlight on the far horizon at his back, Sir Erie drew his heirloom sword from its jeweled sheath. “Stay away from her, demon.”
Erik pulled his dagger back, flipping it in the air and catching it by the blade with a smirk. “Make me,” he countered childishly.
Erie, enraged at seeing his fiancée trapped between the floor and her captor, stormed forward. His anger filled his emerald eyes as he prepared to murder the merciless beast. At the last possible moment, the villain jumped up and easily parried the knight’s sword thrust. For a few stressful minutes they fought, Erie with his sword and Lord Erik with his dagger. Finally, Saffron slashed Erie’s sword hand with his tiny weapon and kicked him in the abdomen, fleeing the scene like a coward.
Gripping his stomach, the emerald-eyed knight ran to his fiancée’s side and held her in his shaking arms. Charlotte-Elizabeth breathed into Erie’s jet-black, softly curled hair that was now damp with sweat, glad to be safe in his arms.


A mere hour after her first startling meeting with Lord Saffron, Charlotte was standing outside her parents’ bedchamber. After knocking politely, she pushed open the heavy oak doors and entered the room. The sight that met her eyes was terrifying: the body of her gray-haired father lay crumpled at the foot of his crimson and blue bed, while her brown-haired mother sat neatly underneath her scarlet sheets.
Running for her father, she saw a pool of rubies around his abdomen. Kneeling, the princess tenderly touched his wrinkled cheek. “Father?” Glancing up at her mother, she gasped. The queen’s blue eyes were dull and flat, lifeless, and her mouth was slightly open. Across her neck ran a thin, red line; she was dead.
At Queen Keren’s feet was a parchment letter similar to the one Erie had sent the princess. Charlotte stretched out her shaking hand and took the letter. Breaking the black seal, she took in the harshly penned words.
‘Princess,’ it read, ‘your chivalrous friend will pay dearly for challenging me. However, until I can dispose of him properly, I’m afraid your parents will serve as a replacement. Enjoy the remainder of your freedom.
-Lord Erik Saffron’
“The bastard!” Charlotte sobbed. “How could he?” she added in a barely audible whisper.
Holding the parchment tightly in her hand, Charlotte-Elizabeth turned to run when footsteps intruded her thoughts. “Stay away from me!” she cried as she faced her would-be attacker. Only, it wasn’t an assassin or attacker of any sort; it was Erie. Tears escaped from her almond-shaped eyes as she flung her arms around her fiancé’s neck.
“Charlotte, who did this?” Erie asked in a stunned whisper.
“S-Saffron! H-He-“ She could no longer control her sorrow, and began to weep uncontrollably into Erie’s shoulder.
Erie noticed the crumpled letter in her hands and gently pried it from her fingers without her noticing. When he realized that his heroic actions to save his future wife had managed to get her parents murdered, shame and guilt intruded his heart. Erie ripped her arms from around his neck and tried to push her away from him.
“I killed them,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I killed them,” he repeated. “It’s my fault, Charlotte. Because of me, your parents were killed!”
“Erie,” the princess whispered huskily, “don’t leave me now. Not when I’m so unstable.”
Charlotte looked up at Erie through her long black eyelashes and while she felt completely ridiculous doing so, Erie found her couldn’t resist her pleading. He stared sadly at her for a few moments, then released her arms and turned. Before he left, however, he said over his shoulder, “Don’t ask me to do anything else.”

Laurecia Waterfall


Lord Cyrus and his wife, Lady Amerenna-Rache, were standing in a secret alcove hidden behind the raging wall of turquoise water. Standing beside them were Laurence of Elisia, Count of Quanalaqic and Amerenna’s cousin, the fairrie king of Aramack, Keithen-Erdim and his wife Anetto-Winta.

Cyrus was holding a map of the kingdoms of Walraven and Laureth before his wife. She was explaining the battle plan that she and Charlotte-Elizabeth had agreed upon to her comrades.
“Saffron’s forces have been spotted throughout the Neutral Zone here, here, and here,” Amerenna stated in a musical voice as she pointed to three separate spots on the map. “Meanwhile, the princess has been busy gathering troops of her own at the fork of the rivers Annelie and Korin and the Kornae Peaks. The forces at the forked river are guarding Walraven Tower, while the forces at the Peaks are there for our consummation of the Palace of Doom. We will act as a decoy, distracting Saffron into thinking we are begging for mercy of some sort, while the troops at Kornae Peaks charge forward after us and take him by surprise. As soon as the princess and her three companions arrive, we will start for the Palace.”
Keithen and Anetto were nodding and holding hands as Laurence cautiously eyed the couple with his strange silver eyes. To say the Count disapproved of marriage was an understatement, although he was no stranger to a woman’s affections. Amerenna opened her mouth to spew more information, but she stopped when she noticed her cousin’s lack of attention. “Laurence, what on Moyèndè are you staring at?”
The Elf’s high cheekbones grew a dull red as he looked away from his previous attention grabber. His light brown hair slipped over his shoulder and fell to the middle of his ribcage, effectively covering one blushing cheek. The rest of the company laughed at his discomfort, Amerenna the loudest. Suddenly, a splash resonated throughout the alcove and stole the smiles away. Amerenna and Cyrus hastily drew an arrow from the sheath of arrows tied to their backs as Anetto drew a dagger from her belt and picked up the ax lying at her feet. Keithen and Laurence glanced hesitantly at each other, their hands resting on their swords.
The sound of voices trailed through the rushing water and into the group’s ears. Slowly and noisily, the voices moved towards them until the unknown people were inches away from discovering the gathering of Elves and fairries. Cyrus was just about to let his arrow fly when a caramel and honey highlighted blonde head appeared, pink lips slightly open and blue-green eyes shining.
“Cyrus!” the princess exclaimed as Cyrus asked, “Charlotte?”
They laughed nervously for a moment, then stared uneasily at each other. The golden haired Elf finally chuckled and whispered, “Hello, Charlie.”
Another blonde head popped up beside Charlotte’s, smiling cheerily. “Charlie? Is that a new nickname, Charlotte?”
The princess gritted her teeth and growled, “Unfortunately.”
“Well,” the young man announced, “I like it!”
Charlotte wildly turned on her friend, eyes flashing in annoyance more than rage. “Shanez!”
“Charlotte!” he cried in an annoyed, high-pitched voice similar to Charlotte’s.
“I-you-will-“ Charlotte broke off her jumbled sentence with a sigh and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just shut up and go over there,” she said wearily as she pointed to the group of warrior friends.
Shanez pursed his lips with raised eyebrows, then shrugged nonchalantly. He reached behind Charlotte-Elizabeth and grabbed a pale hand covered in reddish-brown freckles. Attached to the hand was a thin arm covered in the same freckles, which was attached to a petite feminine figure. Luceline Peasanta, a spirit-like creature that was of few words but many actions, was young, beautiful, and kind beyond measure. She was half Elf and half-human, which contributed to her slightly pinched ears and fine features.
Luceline opened her mouth to protest such an undignified entrance, but Shanez cut off her reply with a quick kiss. As the girl’s green-gold eyes slid closed, everyone sighed romantically. Except, of course, for Laurence, who had the tip of his tongue sticking out from his lips in disgust. Keithen and Anetto smiled at each other, as did Amerenna-Rache and Cyrus, but Charlotte-Elizabeth just stared longingly at the three couples. Erie had not taken kindly to her begging, especially since he still believed that the king and queen were dead because of him.
Tears formed in the young princess’ eyes. A small sigh escaped her parched lips as she turned away. Why couldn’t she do anything right? She had angered her greatest nemesis, which had ended up with dead parents and Erie’s life in danger, then bounded off to destroy and conquer the world, as a knight would do. She was no knight, she was an eighteen-year-old princess who could shoot an arrow through a solitary object and barely a moving one. Her sword-fighting skills were mediocre at best, as were her pathetic attempts at throwing axes or any other sharp utensil.
Amerenna-Rache knew how to fight like a soldier. She was an expert with the bow and arrow, and had growing talents in the sharp weapons department. The best ax-wielding person in the entire group was Anetto-Winta, who had been throwing axes since she could walk, but her fairrie husband came in close second. The men, as did all it seemed, could sword-fight in their sleep with even the dullest or most off-balance blade in all Moyèndè.
She had no business being here, Charlotte decided. She had deluded not only herself, but her entire kingdom, into thinking that she was strong enough to defeat Saffron-
“Charlotte,” Luceline’s quiet voice stated. “You can defeat him.”
“What do you mean-“ Charlotte suddenly realized that she had been whispering her thoughts aloud as they flew through her head. “I-I…”
A warm, firm, familiar hand grasped her shoulder. The curve of those fingers, so often tracing her jaw, the calloused fingertips carefully holding her chin and hair; Erie. Looking sharply up and over her shoulder, Charlotte-Elizabeth saw two sparkling green eyes surrounded by a mass of soft black hair and slightly tanned skin. His lips formed a thin, hard line as he stared down at his fiancé.
“Listen to them,” his eyes seemed to whisper. Charlotte opened her mouth, though she knew not what she could possibly say, but Erie shook his head ever so slightly. There would be no exchanged words of comfort between them, not today. Without another word, he released her shoulder and went to stand by Cyrus. His face was emotionless as he let the Elf brief him, but his shoulders were tense and his hands were fists.


The group of soldiers, Elves, fairries, and humans alike, arrived at the Laurenian-Walraven Neutral Zone precisely as the sun began to set. Charlotte-Elizabeth called for her friends to dismount and set up camp. Cyrus expertly stood on top of his barebacked mount and leaped from empty saddle to empty saddle, violet-blue eyes flashing and golden hair flying. When he jumped down in front of Charlotte’s surprised sugar-white mare, he flashed her a small grin. The princess stared, slightly annoyed, at the Elf lord, but could not keep the smile from her lips.
“Egotistical show-off,” Amerenna-Rache whispered as she and the princess rolled their eyes.
The group laughed for a moment, even Erie and Laurence, but they all eventually returned to the task of setting up tents for the couples. Cyrus lent a hand to Charlotte-Elizabeth, helping her off her horse and onto solid, familiar earth.
Smiling silently, Charlotte turned back to her horse and began to unpack her large saddlebags. She took the reins and walked her horse a distance from the rest of her friends, a plain bedroll in her left hand. When her companions saw her holding her bedroll, they all began to protest and argue that she needed to sleep in a tent. Not willing to argue with anyone, she quickly acquiesced and hurried into an already set up tent.
“Erie!” she gasped as she ran into a tall, muscular figure.
The knight cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Charlotte,” he said gruffly.
She opened her mouth, perhaps to beg him to stay, but he quickly walked out of the tent without giving her a second glance. Charlotte stared open-mouthed at the flaps of the tent, then stuck her head out and said harshly,” I have not yet dismissed you, knight.”
Erie stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tense and reaching up for his ears. “Have we finally converted to formalities, princess?”
The princess’ bottom lip trembled slightly, but she ignored it. Erie, hardly daring to breathe, glanced slowly over his shoulder. His breath was shaky and he didn’t trust his voice to hide his feelings. With his lips pressed firmly together, he stepped quietly for the comfort of his own secluded tent.
Charlotte’s eyes teared up and blurred her vision, but she refused to show any signs of weakness. With her head and chin held high, she stepped calmly back into her tent and began to prepare for full night’s rest.


Charlotte-Elizabeth wrapped her violet cloak around her shivering body, trying desperately to protect herself against the freezing night air that blew through her tent. She was dressed in a pathetic white shift that had a scooped neckline and three-quarter sleeves and had worn her now slightly tattered and slightly gray stockings to bed to keep her legs warm. Reaching out blindly in the inky black of night, she fumbled around looking for her candle and matches. Perhaps, she thought, I can read myself to sleep.
Her left hand closed around a wax cylinder, while her right simultaneously curled its fingers around three tiny sticks. Smiling, she attempted to light the matches, but with no success. After at least ten minutes of failed fire-starting attempts, the princess angrily tossed her matches onto the ground.
“Worthless trash!” she shout-whispered.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the night sky, revealing a towering figure within her tent; Charlotte shrieked and jumped in fright. Immediately after, another flash of lightning raced across the sky, accompanied by the boom of thunder. The figure was closer now, and obviously did not intend to reveal its identity. Scrambling from her makeshift bed, Charlotte-Elizabeth searched wildly for a weapon. When a third flash of lightning appeared, the figure was mere inches away from her with outstretched arms. She screamed.
Her frightened blue-green eyes flew open as she quickly sat up, gasping for breath. It was only a dream. Only a nightmare, she slowly realized. The only realistic part of the dream was the fact that she couldn’t feel her frozen toes. Frowning, Charlotte bent over and began to rub feeling back into her digits. The blood in her feet was warming up when she felt something, a presence. And it was not welcome. Or decidedly friendly.

Laurenian-Walraven Neutral Zone

Long after the sun had set behind the black Julianus Mountains and the sliver of silver moon had raced after the sun, a black-cloaked figure snuck through the camp of ignorant blue bloods. The remaining moon- and star- light cast long shadows across his angular jaw line and cheekbones, giving him the ragged appearance of a dead man. In his tanned hands were a long piece of scratchy rope and a scrap of dirty-white cloth.
Charlotte-Elizabeth’s tent was easy to find; it was slightly larger than the others were and had an apparently sleeping guard stationed at the front. Somehow, the man didn’t think that the princess knew she had a guard, nor that she would particularly like it. Taking his silver dagger from his black leather boot, he slowly cut a slit in the back of the princess’ tent. Sticking his head in, the black-clad man saw the blonde girl asleep on her bedroll, her tiny hands curled into fists.
Emitting a low, musical chuckle, the dagger-wielding fiend stepped cautiously into the tent and stood quietly in a corner of the tent. Charlotte-Elizabeth suddenly awoke gasping for breath, obviously reliving a nightmare within her pretty head. The girl then proceeded to massage her own feet, which seemed to bring great relief to her aching body. He didn’t have that terrible of a view from his hiding spot, he thought amusedly, what with his gaze able to travel down her exposing shift.
A strange look crossed over Charlotte-Elizabeth’s face then, a look of confusion and fear. She looked up and around the tent, sensing something. Or someone. Her innocent eyes searched wildly for a conspicuous shadow or an object out of place. The man decided to make his presence known.
Without warning, he jumped out of the inky shadows and slid on his knees to Charlotte’s side. In a flash, the scrap of cloth was tied tightly around her pink mouth and her hands were roughly bound. She shrieked and cried, but her calls were muffled and incomprehensible because of her gag. Resorting to violence, she lashed out with her slender legs and managed to get a few kicks in the stomach and chest before they were promptly sat upon.
“We meet again, fair princess.”
Charlotte-Elizabeth’s eyes widened substantially. “Saffron!” she gasped, although her exclamation came out muffled.
A smile came to the villain’s face, a cold smile of white teeth clashing with dark skin. Erik held his recognizable dagger to the girl’s throat, the tip poking the pulsating vein in her neck. “Have you fared well since your parents’ untimely death?” Lord Erik asked with a smirk. “Oh, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Should I?” he added when he saw the glint of revenge in her eyes.
Charlotte-Elizabeth struggled to escape his icy grip, but to no avail. Wildly, she swung her bound hands at his face. Saffron easily caught them, quickly pressing them and his body against her own. “I don’t appreciate that.”
The princess glared up at her enemy, hating him with every inch of her fiber. Erik stared at her chest, neck, and face with a smirk, whispering, “You will make a fine wife, no doubt.” His midnight hair fell across his face; he whipped his head back and the hair with it. Charlotte’s body went still, conveying the truth less message that she was no longer angry. With a seductive smile, Saffron gently lowered his mouth to Charlotte’s neck. Instantly, Charlotte-Elizabeth brought her legs up and effectively kneed him in the groin.
Saffron inhaled sharply, closing his eyes painfully. A low groan escaped his lips, and he slowly rolled off Charlotte’s body. While the dark lord wrapped his arms around his stomach, Charlotte-Elizabeth got to her knees and attempted to rip off her gag. The knot, however, was too tight for her to untie, so she ended up tangling her hair with the gag.
Struggling to her feet, she lunged for the tent flaps when her feet caught on something and she fell on her face. Shrieking, she looked over her shoulder to see Erik holding fiercely onto her ankle with one hand still wrapped around his abdomen. Kicking at his face and arms, Charlotte crawled away from her would-be captor and tried desperately to reach the exit of her tent.
“You are mine!” she heard Lord Erik growl behind her.
Both her legs were gripped tightly and yanked harshly back, her body following and her shift hiking up to her thighs. The princess grabbed wildly at the empty air, desperate to escape. Her shoulders were then held in a steel grip and planted firmly against a muscled chest. Hot breath stirred her loose and horribly tangled honey hair.
“I will bend you to my will, princess of Laureth,” Saffron whispered harshly. “You shall become my wife and rule with me.”
Charlotte-Elizabeth shook her head fervently, whispering a hushed and nearly incomprehensible, “Erie.” She hoped Erik had not heard her speak his name, but alas, her wish did not come true.
“Ah, so his name is Erie. A pleasing name, but plain in meaning.” Charlotte shook her head in confusion. “You didn’t know? Why, princess, you surprise me! Erie means ‘warrior’ in your native Laurenian, whereas my name means ‘power-hungry’ in Ancient Ravenhest. Or ‘bloodlust’, either one.”
“You lust for more than blood,” the princess told her gag hatefully.
Saffron wrinkled his nose and put his mouth beneath Charlotte’s earlobe. “What did you say? I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up.” When he received no reply, he quietly kissed the pale skin behind the princess’ ear.
An involuntary shiver ran up Charlotte-Elizabeth’s spine as she closed her eyes in disgust. She would do anything to make this leech take his Ravenhest lips off her skin. She briefly elbowed her captor in the chest and rolled away from him, her world spinning uncontrollably. Two olive hands grabbed her waist firmly. “You won’t escape me that easily.”
“No!” the princess cried. “Erie, Erie!”
Saffron laughed deeply. “You deserve much better than that poor excuse for a knight, Charlotte-Elizabeth. Someone with stamina, courage, skill with a weapon, perhaps. Someone like me.”
The princess closed her red-rimmed eyes and let out a tortured sob, her head slowly shaking from left to right. Taking her resigned outburst as sign that she was willing, Lord Erik stood quickly on his feet and swept Charlotte up in his arms. Saffron easily waltzed out of the tent with the young royal in his arms, a proud grin on his handsome face. Silent as the grave, he stole a dark brown stallion belonging to Amerenna-Rache and lifted a momentarily stunned Charlotte-Elizabeth into the saddle, mounting up after her. With the girl in his arms and the camp of Laurenian allies far behind him, Erik Saffron knew he was the victor this time around.

Walraven Border


The deep brown stallion seemed to fly across the ground, swallowing the earth with his pounding hooves and long strides. Erik had his right arm wrapped protectively around the sleeping Charlotte-Elizabeth’s waist and his left held the horse’s reins. They rode at a steady gallop for hardly over an hour before the Palace of Doom appeared on the indigo horizon. The smile that had faded from Saffron’s face slowly returned when he knew that the princess would not be found missing until morning; he had Charlotte all to himself.

He gently poked Charlotte’s waist, drawing her from her dreamless sleep. The gag around her mouth had left red imprints of wrinkled fabric across her cheeks and pulled her lips slightly back. “Home at last, my dear,” Erik whispered with a smile. Digging his heels harshly into the stallion’s heaving sides, Lord Saffron and his captive raced forward.

When the palace walls grimly loomed above them, Charlotte-Elizabeth cowered and whimpered sadly. The dark shadows played tricks on her mind’s eye, making her see laughing and dancing demons with fiery eyes and evil grins. After riding silently through the citadel walls and halting at the tower stables, Saffron reached for the princess’s gag and quickly unknotted it without ripping too much of her hair out. “Nobody will help you anyways,” he said in her ear.

Erik dismounted, then turned to help the princess of the horse.

“I can get down without your help!” she hissed.

“I know you can, my beauty, but I do not recall asking for your opinion.” Ignoring her outburst, he helped her reach the ground. She thanked him by slapping his face with her bound wrists.

“Do not ever touch me again, you Ravenhest pig! I will not let you use me like some pleasure toy!” she shouted with a wad of spit in her captor’s face.

Saffron harshly grabbed her forearms and swung her into the air, letting her fall hard onto the ground. “You will learn not to disrespect me, young princess. I am the king of this land, not you.”

Charlotte-Elizabeth jumped to her feet and fled, but she wasn’t nearly fast enough. She had barely run six feet before two strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her kicking and screaming into the air. “Release me! Put me down, you devil!”

Erik grabbed the back of her neck with his cold hand, sweeping the mangled hair away from her neck. “Do not waste your breath. I’d hate for you to lose such a pretty voice.”

“Why would you care about my voice, my well-being?” Charlotte sneered. “You only want me as your trophy wife, to display me like some prize. It’s disgusting!”

“And what do you know about that? You are too pathetic to rule your own country, too weak and simple-minded. You can’t even handle the responsibility of being an effective ruler.”

The princess ripped herself away from her rival’s grasp, her eyes ice cold. “You would do well to remember that I am royalty as well. You shall speak to me in an appropriate tone for I will not tolerate disrespect.”

Rubbing his thumb against her cheek, Saffron whispered just as fiercely, “You are in no position to demand respect, princess. You are my prisoner.” Charlotte’s hands flew up to slap the smirk off his face, but her grabbed her wrists and squeezed them harshly. His eyes ran up and down her face. “And an ungrateful one at that.”

“Ungratefull? Why should I be grateful to you? You are my enemy, my most hated rival, and I have no respect for you.”

“That is too bad, my beauty, for you will be my wife.”

“You murdered my parents, you arrogant son-of-a-“

Erik’s lips came down upon hers, his teeth colliding with the pearls in Charlotte’s mouth. Mine, the dark lord thought, she is mine forever. His tongue ran roughly against the princess’s closed lips, frightening her beyond measure. Blood pumping quickly through her head and adrenaline rushing through her body, Charlotte kicked her captor repeatedly in the shins. Grabbing her shoulders, Saffron shoved her none too gently to her knees. A smirk was plastered on his lips, a sneer on hers.

“I hate you,” Charlotte muttered.

“You flatter me, Charlotte.”

The princess gazed coldly at him. “Oh how clumsy of me. I meant to accuse you.”

Walraven Border


“That sadistic pig has captured my bride-to-be and could be torturing her this very moment! Yet you stand before me and ask me to stay calm?”

“Yes, Erie, I am. If you rush into Walraven this instant in a heroic attempt to save her life, you could be killed. You are useless to Charlotte dead.”

Erie stared hopelessly at Keithen-Erdim, his emerald eyes flashing in the light of the rising sun. His hands opened into fists and closed frantically. The knight stood silently for a split second, contemplating his decision, before he suddenly ran for his golden-haired mare. Fury blinding him, Erie nearly ran into his horse, but he quickly recovered and jumped onto the saddle. With many fierce kicks to the stomach, the horse finally galloped in the direction of the Palace of Doom.

Looking at his friends, Keithen sighed and shook his head. Running swiftly for his own mount, the fairrie king rode off after Sir Erie. Galloping behind them were Cyrus, Amerenna, Anetto, Shanez, Luceline, and Laurence, grim expressions on their usually serene faces.