Blood. Nothing but blood, everywhere. Blood on the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling. Looking at her hands, she saw blood on her fingertips. She sobbed, shaking her head, her matted hair falling into her face. Her lips quivered as she fell to her knees, landing in another puddle of blood.

            Ulizaria gritted her teeth, forsaking her fear and squashing it down before it took total control of her, taking her over and drowning her. She made her hands into fists and forced herself onto her feet to face her foe, holding back the grunt of pain that lingered on her lips.

            Body parts littered the cell. Limbs, heads, hands and feet belonging to men, women, animals, and beasts that were never meant to exist. But the final foe stood before her, in armor blacker than the blackest night, darker than freshly spilled blood, with a dark cape that hung, still and lifeless outlined in black wolf fur, that hung limply behind her even through the hardest wind. The figure in black laughed, leaning back, leaning on the sword she had propped up beside her, the blade gleaming dully, catching the light in its black metal.

            Bending down, Ulizaria collected both her curved, Elvin swords into her hands and breathed deep, preparing herself to face the ultimate enemy.

            The chase had been long and cruel through the palace in the capital city of Exantir. The attack had started in the throne room, the enemies pouring though a portal to attack the guards, then the attendants who had called up the Mystyk, killing and defending their queen-Ulizaria. But the effort had been futile. They all die and Ulizaria had no choice but to flee-flee to the dungeons where she barricaded herself into a cell with half a contingent of guards, waiting for Cassalindra to find her. The legendary bodyguard, Horgan, had died protecting her. He had fallen at Cassalindra sword, and the Vanca’s she’d sent before her. Her bodyguards had fallen protecting her. It would all be for naught.

            “I like a good fight.” Cassalindra hissed, her laughter stopping as if cut by a knife. “But this was more than I bargained for.”

            Ulizaria straightened, shaking her head so the hair left her face. “The deal isn’t over yet, Cassalindra. I still draw breath.”

            Cassalindra pulled off her helmet, her long golden hair falling to her hips. “Oh, but you will be. I cannot tell you how long I have been looking forward to this moment.”

            A Vanca came up behind her to take her cape and helmet and she shoved it aside with a slash of her sword.

            “Come and kill me, then, you bloody wench. Now we will decide who is the better of us two.” Ulizaria spat. She crouched into a defensive stance, holding her swords before her.

            Cassalindra smiled and glided forwards, aiming a kick in Ulizaria’s chest that sent her flying to crash into the bloodied cell wall.

            Cassalindra smiled as Ulizaria crumpled to the floor. “I’m quicker than you thought, princess. Oh, forgive me, my queen.” She paced, flinging her sword over her shoulder. “You deserve a final title before your death, yes?” She mused.

            Ulizaria hauled herself to her feet. “The Queens of Exantir are humble-we do not lavish ourselves with titles.”

Cassalindra smiled bitterly. “You are no longer a queen of Exantir, Ulizaria. But a servant of mine. With this sword,” She paused to admire the stainless black steel. “I will trap your very soul, binding it to me so it will do my bidding-and you will beg me to strap you if it pleases me. You will live every day to see admiration in my eyes. You will be my pet, and I will take immense pleasure from watching you writhe before me when I beat you, remembering the prideful girl you were before.”

Ulizaria sneered. “Never.” She snarled.

Cassalindra’s eyes narrowed and she napped her fingers. “I’m going to break you, girl. It is time for the ultimate betrayal.”

A hooded figure glided into the room, claws extending from under the sleeves.

“I know who that is.” Ulizaria spat.

Cassalindra arched an eyebrow as she snapped her fingers again.

The cape of the figure fell to the floor and Ulizaria saw a semblance of Disandre, her trusted maid and friend from childhood. Though she’d known for many months that Disandre was a Vampiran on Cassalindra’s side, she burst into tears anyway.

Cassalindra pushed Ulizaria’s chin up with the tip of the sword. “Let it begin.”

Disandre squawked as her wings sprouted-two on her shoulder blades the size of a Sunai’Donn’s and two in the small of her back half the size of the larger ones. Her fangs grew sharp and her skin turned pale and transparent, her eyes turned ice white and colorless, with her hair growing long and white, straight as an arrow and thin. She took the sword from Cassalindra, her sharp talons wrapping around the hilt as she hissed with amusement. She slithered forward, a sick smile playing her face.

“I have waited, too, you little bitch. Every day and every night. Dreams of blood, your sweet, red blood running down my throat. Sweet, fresh blood, hunger quenched; an ancient, thirsting hunger soothed only by a blood so sweet, the blood of queens.” Disandre inched closer, her nails stroking the blade of Cassalindra’s sword.

“Hurry it up, pet.” Cassalindra snapped. She stroked Disandre’s long white hair, getting a soft purring sound from the Vampiran. Then Cassalindra smiled, pulling a dagger from her belt. “I’ll slit her throat while you use the sword. DO it quick.”

Disandre licked her sharp teeth with a wicked tongue, and Ulizaria choked back a sob as she saw a fuzzy light behind Cassalindra. She held back a smile. “I’m not dead yet.” She spat on Cassalindra’s face and Disandre hissed.

She stood and kicked Disandre back, the sword spiraling out of control to crash against the wall. Cassalindra grabbed a lock of Ulizaria’s hair and yanked her back with a curse. Disandre stood stiffly and scuffled over, but not without interference. Ulizaria leaned back against Cassalindra to kick her legs up and wrap them around Disandre’s neck, pulling her down with a crash to the ground. Disandre’s skull split open when it met the stone ground, blood spilled everywhere.

The dim, fuzzy light behind Cassalindra grew, and Ulizaria knew who it was coming through, but Cassalindra failed to notice. She wailed for the death of her pet and released Ulizaria, gliding over to the sword on the ground.

She seized the sword and swiped gracefully at Ulizaria, missing her neck by a hair and scoring deeply into the shoulder. She pulled back, and then drove the sword through Ulizaria’s thigh, holding her there, unable to move.

Ulizaria grappled for her sword in the dark next to her, crying out in immense pain, struggling to keep movement out of her bleeding leg.

Cassalindra reached one of Ulizaria’s swords first and smiled, leaning over her. “Your death will bring me pleasure.” She drawled.

“What are you smiling at?” Cassalindra spat. She looked up in time to see Gregory, towering over her with his sword poised at the base of her neck. She smiled. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

“I killed my father, I can kill you.” He spat. Her smile slipped, and fear shone through for the first time Ulizaria could remember. His face was hard and blood stained. “You are a worm next to the effort it took me to kill him. You will die, now.” He forced the sword into her spine and she collapsed onto the ground, without sound.

Gregory knelt beside Ulizaria, pulling the sword out of her thigh. “You came back…” She managed in a gargled whisper. Blood spouted from her mouth.

“Shh.” He whispered, brushing her hair from her face. “You’ve been fighting hard.”

He looked into her eyes and she looked into his…

And then she began to fade.

“I win again.” I smiled as I threw four cards down onto the makeshift, knee-high stone table. Dwerva sighed and slammed his cards onto the flat surface with a scowl.

“Denoviss burn you, Met’ched. You win Devils Snare every time, you do.” He gave a soft, throaty laugh.

I reached over the table to ruffle his red-gold, ear-length curls. “Souva’s blessings on you as well, Dwerva.” I laughed. He scoffed sourly, but the smile was plain on his thin face. His startlingly blue eyes locked onto mine and I snatched my hand away.

Before my hand could return to the cards, he caught it gently and put it to his cheek. A dark, smooth cheek. I felt my slightly tanned cheeks go red and pulled my green eyes away from his handsome face.

He lowered my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips. I felt the coolness of his breath on my slim fingers.

“Look at me.” He said quietly. I didn’t have to look-I didn’t! - But I did anyway. Id always wanted his gaze to look at me the way he was now, but I was so afraid.

“It’s just you and I here to guard the Gateway of the Dead, Met’ched.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve tried to hide my feelings for you. I cannot. Will not. You were promised to my brother, Yiw’din, before the Guardian Talent was found in you…” He trailed off.

A strand of my chin-length raven black hair fell into my face and his hand brushed it gently away, stroking my cheek as he did so.

“But I cannot deny it, Met’ched. My heart is yours.”

My lips quivered as air rushed in and out of my mouth. Of Souva, what in your name…? My heart began to beat faster as it leapt into my throat.

“Say something.” Both his hands cupped my face.

I looked at the sword at his hip. An enchanted sword that each Guardian got once chosen to guard the Gateway of the Dead, and the charms carved into the blade matched the bearers personality and strength. Dwerva was so violent against the dead, but would his hands be gentle with me if I kissed his fingertips as the ritual went?

I took both his hands in mine, raised them to my lips and kissed each of his fingertips in turn to show the depth of my love.

“My heart is yours.” I whispered.

I looked up at him, and suddenly his lips were on mine, caressing mine. His tongue gently parted my lips and invaded my mouth with vigor and pleasure. His tongue withdrew and mine followed into his mouth. His teeth bit down on my tongue gently as he lifted me out of my stone rock of a chair.

I felt a shiver of joy as I knew the depth of his love for me. A trickle of blood flowed into his mouth and he sucked it hungrily; I would shed blood for you, it meant by our customs, shed blood for you.

I squeezed his neck and my tongue retreated from his mouth, but his was not far behind. I bit gently and pulled him towards me, a trickle of blood flowed into my mouth. I gathered the blood, then swallowed. I would follow you anywhere, even to death my message assured.

His hands-oh so gentle-moved up my arms, across my shoulders, up my neck and over the sides of my head. He suddenly gripped two handfuls of my hair and jerked my head back and down. His teeth made little marks on my neck, sending little currents of pleasure through me. His hands moved-caressing my back, my hips and waist, and even running over my breasts tenderly. Gently. I wanted so much more.

He lifted his head and I smiled. I pulled his head down, fisting two clumps of his hair, and nibbled on his ears. He shivered and his hands were never still.

The biting of my neck showed he would pay any pain for me, and my nibbles assured I would do the same. More, I wanted more.

His mouth met mine again and I pulled at the string at the back of his neck that held his shirt to him. It fell at our feet. His gentle hands moved. One messaged the back of my neck and the other pulled the strings of my shirt; it also fell at our feet.

For a moment we pulled apart and took off the sword belts at each others hips. Denoviss burn my wicked soul! I cursed myself.

An instant after the sword clattered to the ground, our bare chests met. A surge of breath escaped me at the feel of his skin against mine; so smooth. His scent filled my mind; faint cinnamon.

He stepped onto the tips of my knee high leather boots and I stepped out of them. I did the same to him. Then it was only us in our tight black woolen breeches.

He picked me up, looking into my eyes. Unlike other men who had courted me before I was chosen to be a Guardian, he did not once look at my ample bosom. His eyes were locked to mine and I tangled his hair in my fingers. His smile made my head swim and heart melt.

He laid me down gently onto our bed and unlaced my breeches, and pulled them off gently. I arched my back as his message was clear and thrilled me to the bone. He’d strip body and soul for me. I unlaced his breeches as he threw mine to the ground and kissed me again, then we switched positions and I pulled his breeches off, digging my nails into his skin. This is the pain I feel when you are gone and I will strip body and soul for you my message to him said.

I shivered as I realized tradition stopped there. He grabbed me, pulled me to him roughly. I gave a howl of pleasure as he rolled me onto my bad, kissing me as if trying to swallow me whole. Six years of Guarding the Dead all lead up to this moment. He answered my howl with one of his own from pleasure as my nails dig into his skin. Our people, the Selkieri, liked things rough. Especially in bed.

His lips fell hard onto mine as he entered me.

He filled me, every inch of me. I was on fire; I was shivering. I was in ecstasy; I was shaking and moaning. Our limbs tangled; we were one.

It all led to this.

All to this.

These moments of love, this night of unchecked passion. The feeling of the world being right for once as we danced our dance of love. I lied in the arms of my love, and the world was right. All was right.

A cold wind blew through the hall in the castle, howling through the passageways and weeping through the rooms with doors ajar. Gregory shivered in spite of himself as he glared at the tapestry of a knight kneeling to a man that was half wolf. That must be Coran, Gregory thought to himself idly.

He drummed his fingers on the stone pillar he was leaning on. He looked at it, tracing the curves with his eyes. It was a rearing horse with horns curling around its head and poking around from below its mouth with sharp points; a Unircori.

“We haven’t seen one of those this side of the Black Sea ever since the Age of Myth.” A man said from beside Gregory. He hadn’t seen the man, but he knew the man was always close to him no matter what.

“Has my mother returned yet, Zhanshee?” Gregory asked.

Zhanshee flinched. “You know?”

Gregory nodded. “I knew she would try something with the Queen of Exantir. She’s always had quarrels with that particular line of heirs.” Even though he had really sent her. “It was only a matter of time, and what better time to do it than when I walk through the portal to the Testing Grounds?”

He shivered as he remembered those. You had to face your biggest fear, kill the one you loved most without hesitation, and see your downfall. Each situation was behind a stone doorway called a Vanaal, made by the Mystyk. He remembered everything. Ulizaria, forgive me. She had been a part of each situation. Her biggest fear was her death-by his hand. He had killed her. She had killed him. It was all so painful.

Gregory glanced at his Sword Bearer. He was wearing plain brown breeches and a white woolen shirt instead of his regular silk and satin. He had been training with Ish’Namael this morning. His blood red shoulder length hair was tied at the nape of his neck, while hard blue eyes stared at him watchfully.

“How was Ish’Namael this morning?” Gregory asked, bending over to tie his leather, knee-high boots.

Zhanshee smiled, and Gregory felt hatred mixed with pleasure flow through their bond. “He was…tired, I must say.” He chuckled dryly, half talking to himself. “Maybe now he’ll leave Grendelak alone.”

Gregory shook his head. “You and that bloody woman.”

Zhanshee smiled, eyes narrowing in a friendly way and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, a woman stood before them.

“Show him proper respect, Zhanshee. What you were about to mutter is by far not acceptable.” Suddenly Zhanshee was on his knees, pain flowing through the bond he shared with Gregory, but he kept his eyes on the ground, and his mouth clamped shut.

“Stop it, mother.” Gregory hissed, slapping a shield on her. “I will not have you interfering with my Sword Bearer.”

She snorted, but otherwise seemed undisturbed as Zhanshee stood back on his feet. “It is done.” She said briskly.

Gregory nodded. She’ll be safe. Good, safe, and away from me. He watched his mother as she walked away, a little hatred seeping into his heart. Safe.

Bah! She growled to herself bitterly. I can’t do this. Trying to stop loving him was like trying to stop breathing. Stop living.

She glanced at Disandre, her maid, standing stiffly by the door. Her long golden hair fell in waves to the small of her back. Her slim hands with long, soft fingers were folded at her waist. She kept her eyes down, as a good maid should.

With lus’noc on her, Ulizaria could hear her maids’ steady breathing. How could the woman be so calm?

Ulizaria traced the crest on the chest of her dress idly; running her slim fingers along the embroidered image in dark blue silk of a wolf biting off a serpents head. She looked at the papers on her desk, then at the woman who sat before her, and schooled herself to calm. It took effort to smooth her features. She imagined a sunrise on a spring day, and breathed deeply. Oh, Ellah, but does he still love me? She wondered.

“Now if you’re done toying, I would very much like to be under way. We have much to do yet.” The woman said coldly, dark eyes un-giving and cold as stone.

Ulizaria smiled inside her head. If she let any emotions show in front of this woman, she would find a million ways to put it against her.

Natalia Dimborgese was a thin woman with pale skin and brown eyes. She claimed they were brown, but they looked black. Black eyes would have done the woman justice. Her hair was tied neatly at the top of her head, and bright red curls spilled down to her shoulders from where they were tied. She was tall and bony, yet strong in the Mystyk.

Ulizaria cleared her throat, and Disandre looked at her quickly. Ulizaria shook her head sharply and abruptly and waved her out of the room. The golden haired woman hesitated before slipping out of the double doors.

“About time you sent her away.”

Ulizaria closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing. “So why are you really here?”

Natalia leaned forward in her low cut yellow silk dress. Black embroidered bees bussed across the sleeves, and black lace splashed the skirts with color. An elegant woman, Ulizaria noticed. “You should know.” She hissed through gleaming teeth.

“If you mean to try and steal-”

Natalia cut Ulizaria off with the Mystyk. The Elf’s’ eyes bulged, but she quickly masked her fear and outrage with hate. She stumbled inside herself to try and grapple at lus’noc, but she seemed to slam into a stone wall. “I did not come to steal your crown, petty princess Ulizaria of Exantir. You know why I came.”

Ulizaria tried to shake her head. “I know of the dark desires in your heart; I can see it in your eyes. Your fear betrays you, my dear.” For a moment her eyes sparkled, and pity flashed across her face. Ulizaria thought the woman look motherly for a moment, but it was replaced with contempt and cunning a moment later. “Desire Ja’Nul’Wan and you will suffer. Chase him, you will die. Take him…” She gave an amused laugh, raspy and haggard. “And you will by my devoted slave for all of time. Not even Ellah can save you from that fate.”

Ulizaria blinked at the woman. Gregory, oh Gregory! Why do I have to love you? But suddenly, thunder rolled across the sky, and lightning forked throughout the night, as if Ellah meant to prove just how far she could go. How powerful she really was. Natalia scowled as she looked out the window and into the night. “Remember that, girl.”

Natalia released the girls tongue and Ulizaria blurted, “Who are you?”

Natalia laughed. Not the ragged, raspy, haggard sound. But a rich, melodious chuckle filled with twisted mirth and joy. “Why, if you don’t recognize me now, you never will.” Her voice was like honey, smooth and rich.

“Cassallindra.” Ulizaria all but spat.

The woman smiled, and her appearance rippled, then changed.

Long, honey colored hair fell straight to her waist. An hourglass figure of ample bosom and hips, dark smooth skin, full lips and hollow cheeks stood before Ulizaria. The woman’s dark green eyes glittered furiously, hatred showing plain as day. And also, fear? She seemed to peer over high cheekbones; weighing, measuring. She no longer wore the yellow and black dress, but a gown that clung like winter to the earth as spring came to take its place. But it seemed transparent, shifting colors every time the woman moved, or even breathed. A black leather belt-no not leather, human skin-was tied around her middle, making her seem thinner. The buckle was that of a man, screaming in agony as he was sprawled out in the shape of a star.

“Remember.” Cassallindra hissed, and then faded away like fog.

Ulizaria stood and went to sit behind her desk. Methuda’s wife. Gregory’s mother. Sent here to-to what, threaten her? Why would Methuda threaten her unless…unless he feared her. Unless somebody feared for her?

“Gregory?” Ulizaria asked aloud. “Could he love me enough still to try and keep me away from him?” But why would he send his mother? Why?
             Ulizaria held her head in her hands. Why?

It seemed that at that moment, that nothing in the world would-could-matter. The sun was setting over the trees to the east, and Ulizaria felt his presence not far off. All kinds of different colors bloomed in the late summer sky marvelous reds and oranges mixed with the light blue that turned darker every moment. But for all the beauty, there was emptiness hovering silently in the background of the illusion that stood before Ulizaria’s dark green eyes. There were no birds chirping to say goodnight to the sun, no crickets sang to welcome on the coming of night. Only the wind blew softly, here, and even that was oddly cautious and quiet; not daring to disturb what monster lived inside the huge Keep, carved into the mountain side. The Keep was in part of the mountain where its shadow covered it in darkness at all hours, and the city below.

But Ulizaria knew better. True, the beauty was breathtaking, but there were serious things at stake. For one…no, she didn’t want to think about it. Not now, not when she finally had everything she really wanted. But how long would it last? When would the peace and beauty shatter for a world of death and destruction, ruled by two men-father and son who ruled harshly and with force, turning the world black with their invincible armies? No, not now.

Ulizaria sighed as she leaned over the fence and turned her head east. She saw Gregory soaring over the trees aboard the dragon his father once had. Gregory liked to fly at dusk, when the sky was filled with magic that could not be used, only seen. The dragon was big and beautiful. Blue scales cover it, while his whole underside was all dull yellow scales up to his jaw. Two spikes half as long as a tall man rose from the back of his head the darkest green Ulizaria had ever seen. It was probably because both she and Gregory had bonded him, and since they both had green eyes, the spikes were dark green-combining the two to a much darker shade. The dragon had once belonged to Methuda, but now to Gregory and Ulizaria.

Ulizaria turned her head towards the door as Zhanshee stepped onto the large, stone balcony. He was Gregory’s Sword Bearer, his bodyguard. He was tall and muscular with blood red hair to his shoulders and green, dark eyes. He came over to stand beside Ulizaria, leaning on the rail as well on his elbows. He winced as Gregory did a flip with the dragon over the trees.

“How am I supposed to protect him if he breaks his fool neck playing with Kendragon, eh?” He snarled.

Ulizaria laughed quietly, shifting uncomfortably in the dark blue silk dress. “You should know the dragon by now; he wouldn’t let a branch scratch Gregory without breaking the whole damned tree.”

Zhanshee looked at her and arched an eyebrow quizzically. She had the grace to blush. “What?” She asked, looking at him coolly.

Zhanshee laughed. “You have a worse mouth than a sailor.” He looked back at Gregory as Ulizaria smiled and gave his head a shove.

But when they looked back at Gregory, he was nowhere to be seen. Ulizaria stood up and looked all around, as did Zhanshee, panic grew on their faces plain as day. “When I get my hands on him, I’ll kill him!” Ulizaria growled, but inside she was afraid also.

The two of them moved all around the balcony, looking in all directions when suddenly they heard a laugh below them under the balcony. A low laugh that sounded more like a growl, and a mans’ laughter that sounded as if he were about to laugh himself to death.

Ulizaria scowled and looked down under the balcony. “Gregory!” She yelled as she saw him and Kendragon hovering underneath her. “You gave us all a terrible scare! Come up here so I can split your head in two!”

Kendragon and Gregory came up and Gregory jumped off his back and onto the stone balcony. Ulizaria and Zhanshee glared at him, and he only smiled at them.

Gregory walked over to Ulizaria, head up, back straight, and scooped her into his arms. She gave a brief yell of “put me down” and then gave way to laughing when he spun her around and around, tickling her stomach gently. When he finally stopped, Ulizaria was laughing and had her arms wrapped around Gregory’s strong neck. He kissed her forehead and placed her onto the ground. As usual, Ulizaria looked a little disappointed that it had ended so soon.

“You can’t pick me up to lessen my anger, boy.” Zhanshee said.

Gregory frowned and sighed, as if it were hopeless. He walked over to Zhanshee and looked at Kendragon, who smiled wickedly. The two shared a laugh, and then Kendragon flew over, took Zhanshee in his mouth, and flung the Elf upon his back.

Zhanshee glared at Gregory as he flew over the trees, but Gregory only smiled. Zhanshee soon started laughing as well, flipping over the trees with the dragon between his knees.

Gregory looked at Ulizaria fondly. She had a muscular build that fitted her body, not to big, not too small. Her long black hair flowed in waves halfway down her back and framed a thin, green eyed, hollow cheeked face. She frowned grudgingly with thin pink lips. She had a good figure with wide hips and round bosom that didn’t get in her way when she ran or moved. She wore a dark blue silk dress embroidered in two sliver wolves on their hind legs fighting each other. On her arms, silver embroidered vines wound around them with blooming roses.

Gregory walked towards the door and reached for Ulizaria. She scowled, but went into his arms. He kissed her hair gently. “You did scare me, Gregory.” She said quietly as they went inside his apartments. Their apartments.

“I am truly sorry. Next time, I should take you with me.” He laughed gently, still holding her close to him.

Ulizaria scoffed. “Zhanshee will not be pleased, neither will Derias”

“Our Maidins are different matters all together. I’ll have Zhanshee be put to training Ish’Namael, and your Derias can have one of her needed lessons on horseback.” Gregory answered, laughing at the idea of her Maidin on a horse.

“Well, it is not her fault that she’s never ridden a horse before. She comes from a land where horses do not exist.” Ulizaria shot back. She imagined her wiry, strong, tall, black haired blue eyed Sword Bearer on her fiery chestnut warhorse, and gave a laugh of her own.

Gregory took her hand in his, and pulled her over towards the bed. They laid down, simply taking in the comfort of being in each others’ arms. Their heads touching, intertwined legs, arms wrapped around each other.

Ulizaria sighed as she drifted into sleep, taking joy in his presence. Oh, Ellah. If only we weren’t here, with the real Enemy so close. Let us be together this was, forever. She thought.

But how long would it all last? How long would peace and love last?