Chapter 1-The Enemy

Nahlaya stood in the center of the pavilion. Her eyes tilted up towards the skies as she looked over the gray skies filled with clouds. She heard nothing but the sound of the wind, and her body shook with the chill of the air. Her lips were warm, her neck was cold, and her fingers felt like icicles. She could not stop shaking because it was cold.

Her throat flexed with a swallow as she stepped across the stone, not looking down, not looking around. She stepped up onto the balcony, her foot planted on the stone as she lifted herself, shivering as wind seemed to fly upwards into her face. Her face heated with a crimson blush. She could hear something at that moment. Sounds of war.

She opened her eyes wider and took it all in. The white castle where her father’s head was on a pike in the bloody courtyard. Blood painted on all the white stones from the massacre of her people. She smirked slightly as she heard her mother and sister. They were probably going to be just fine, she thought as she stepped forward and let the wind carry her. She fell forward, her hands flying upwards towards her face as she dropped towards the ground beneath. She would not die. She would fall, for a long time and then fall into the plunging water. People did it all the time, but now it was cold.

An arm wrapped around her waist and she was yanked backwards, gasping as she fell to the stones, tumbling to the ground as she was thrown against the bloody stones. Her face immediately covered with it as her long black hair flew around her. She grunted as she pressed her hands into the stone, her eyes narrowing as dizziness overwhelmed her. She had already been suffering from a fever for days. She frowned in annoyance as she raised her head, her brown eyes meeting a dark visor.

The man standing before her was tall, but he was just a soldier. Some sort of knight of Bringdon, the kingdom that had just attacked out of nowhere on the damned island of Woreden. She wondered if the attacker was out of his mind or just lucky.

She pressed her hands against the stone and rose slowly, her legs straightening. He was not alone. A moment later there were three soldiers surrounding her with their spears trained on her. She glanced at them with a bored expression, her eyelids unable to lift high enough to meet their gazes. She walked towards the man that stopped her and he raised a hand to stop her from going another step, so she did stop. She did not understand the words they were blabbering at her because all she heard was buzzing, and she did not understand what they were gesturing to but a moment later the soldier grabbed her necklace and raised it. He said something and he grabbed her arm, roughly yanking her down the long walk towards the front of the castle. Her bare feet splashed against the blood as she walked, her white ruined gown gathering new blood to drink.

She smiled as she tipped her head back and began laughing, her eyes closing as she laughed again and again, shrieking hysterically as the bodies of the dead stared up at her. She laughed when she saw her father’s severed head on a pike, and she laughed when she saw the knights strung up on the wall, their blood streaking down the white walls to the ground to create a picture of chaos. She laughed harder and the birds began to stir, cawing loudly. The crows began to gather, and the gray skies held an ominous promise.

She shouted loudly, her hands raised as the guards shoved her to the ground, “Ith crowthen fer mith blither hail!”

Which in the witch's language translated to, "I have waited for this my whole life."

The guards grabbed her arms, dragging her up to her feet as they hurried her into the courtyard through the gates tainted by life of man. She was dragged around the large fountain flowing with red blood, the bodies floating in the water and all over the green trim grass. She was dragged through the broken front doors, pulled across the bloody ground, and taken into the throne room.

She saw the knights standing on either side, watching forward but they turned when they saw her, their eyes narrowing. She smiled, unable to hide it as they dragged her forward and she was pulled through the crowd, leaving bloody footprints across the white tile as she was taken to the front where Duchess Sayala was standing to the side with her daughter Immor next to her. Her supposed stepmother, and stepsister.

She smiled at them, taking in their pale faces. Sayala stared at her in horror, wondering what sort of sick mind could take in what was going on with a smile. Immor silently took her in, anger in her eyes because she had been the one to sacrifice everything to get Nahlaya out of the castle to begin with.

The man standing on the dais was the one that captured everyone’s attention. He stood with all the power of a man of his age. Twenty-one of age, and the fourth prince of Bringdon, expendable but undefeatable prince of devils. His red eyes watched Nahlaya with an expressionless face, his brown hair brushed back over his fine features.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped forward, his large bloodied brown boots pressing into the white stone as he rested one powerful hand against his double-edged sword.

“What is this?” he asked softly, his voice not rising above a low growl.

The soldier bowed, “I found her jumping from the wall, your majesty. She seemed…to wish for death, but her necklace signifies she is part of the royal family.”

He smirked slightly and turned to look at her with narrowed eyes, “You wish for death?”

She did not answer, her eyes narrowing slightly as a smile ticked up her face and she stared at him as if she was locked in a dream.

Immor stepped up and fell to her knees, her hands clasped, “I beg of you, spare her. She is my sister.

“Spare her?” he asked with a raised eyebrow as he stepped down the step and looked at her with a curious expression, “Was she not the one that wished for death, little girl?”

Immor gritted her teeth, her crimson lips parting as she raised her blue eyes to his, “All I ask is that you spare her from your blade, you slithering black-hearted bastard.”

The captain who had been standing behind her and her mother moved forward immediately to her and grabbed her black hair, pulling her hair back. He shook her, making her grunt deep in her throat though she did not look away from Galadan’s red gaze.

The captain hissed, “Shall I kill her now, your highness?”

He smirked as he looked down at her, “Peace, Lance. Maybe later…after I give her to my hounds to play with.”

She sneered as she stared up at him, almost daring him to.

Nahlaya chuckled softly and shook her head as she laughed again, “Your sister?” she asked with a raised eyebrow as she looked at Immor who looked at her with a pained expression, “Holy water would not be able to cleanse that heart of the man before you, stepsister,” she lowered her face towards her and murmured, “A heart to a heart, he would never spare any of us.”

Immor frowned as she said angrily, “Get your bitch to get his hand off my hair.”

The captain tightened his grip, “Your highness?”

She laughed as she looked at Galadan, “My apologies, I did not mean to offend your lover.”

“Your highness, your hounds would not want to play with her, let me strike her dead!” he shouted in anger, his face going red with embarrassment.

“Only guilty ones scream in embarrassed rage, you poor fool,” she groaned as he pulled her hair harder, “Pulling my hair only gets me excited.”

He let her go with disgust, shaking his hand as he glared down at her, “You sick bitch!”

“One to another,” she said with a laugh, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at the prince again with a tight smile on her face.

Nahlaya laughed again, her eyes narrowing as she stood slowly to her feet, ignoring the guards as they raised their spears in warning, “Nahlaya fer nith,” she pointed at him with a crazed smile on her face as she whispered, “I have a gift for you.”

The prince stared at her as if he was absolutely finished with the entire conversation. He stepped down the stairs and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him as he looked over her face. He took in her small nose, the full pale lips, and her fevered face. Her eyes were glassy, though he could feel the fever radiating off of her. She would probably be dead before he could have some sort of fun with her sordid expressions. She looked at him as if she was insane, and he did not doubt that maybe she was.

He smiled and looked towards Immor, “Your sister is ill.”

Immor stared at him, her eyes devoid of emotion as she refused to answer. She knew that Nahlaya was insane, that was why she had gotten her out.

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