The Gilferis Sea roared loudly and unsteadily. This salty sea was home to the Gilferis, the most sought-after fish in Vermachor. Long before the Regnivore, Central Velecor sustained its economy by trading fish. Rowfish, Shadowgill, Owcer, chak, Waile—but the most valuable of them all was the Gilferis—and for it, the sea which is also known as the Bounded Sea was named.
Gilferis meat was luxurious, and unlike gold, it did not need to be tested by fire. Its skin produced durable leather products that were only worn by nobility. Its oil had alchemists starving for months to get their hands on even small portions. Books written with its ink were more expensive than others.
Central Velecor and Celmora controlled it—though not without a test for total control. The first Bounded Sea war lasted for twenty-three years. And since then, three more wars have been fought for the right of ownership of the sea. Eighteen years ago, Celmora threatened to poison its waters. Zenoryn Clovis and Aurellan Borewyn settled their differences through a marriage pact.
Emon, a scion of that marriage pact, lay in his bed unsteadily—dancing along the rugged steps of the Bounded Sea. His mind was muddled with thoughts and migraine—keeping him bedridden for the last three days.
The migraines were sometimes short, but in the last three days, they had been frequent. I'm a mess. Emon groaned in pain and shifted his sleeping position to his back, facing the ceiling. He removed the soft white pillow that caressed his neck—though it offered no help in relieving his pain.
His cabin was obviously the best in the ship. The bed was large enough for two and he had a table and a chair and also a wardrobe for his clothes and shoes. It was richly decorated and was painted in gold and red—but the bright colours only served to worsen his migraine.
He was shirtless, his nakedness covered only by black breeches. I thought it couldn't get any worse. Thunder roared and lightning crackled, further disturbing his sleepless night. Four lit candles, as large as a man's hand, stood on stands in each corner of the room.
Drastically, Emon forced himself to straighten his back against the wooden wall. His face looked unkempt and the dishevelled look of his hair made him look older than he was. Before, even though his hair had turned grey, it retained the silkiness of his golden hair.
Emon finally stood, carrying a black silk shirt along with him as he staggered towards the door of the cabin. He could barely make his way around and he thrashed about, culminating in breaking a ceramic cup on the table. He finally made his way to the empty passage through the ajar door. He had opened it for a reason now buried by the migraine he felt.
The night sky was illuminated by the full moon, but thunder roared loudly under its watchful gaze—threatening to spoil their sleep with a stormy rain. Emon forged on without purpose but would soon come to rue it. There were three classes of ships in the Velecorian military. The Dragon Class, which were the biggest, the Phoenix Class followed in size while the Falcon Class were the smallest.
They were travelling with a Phoenix Class ship. It had two layers of cabins and Emon stayed on the top floor. He had wandered into the second layer through a stairway. His migraine became worse and he stumbled on the floor face-first.
Can't hold out much longer. I need to find a room. Emon crawled towards the nearest door. He held the handle and pushed it down. Luckily, it was open. Finally. I have to hold out till I see Netus Grey. Emon had little care for the occupant of the room as he crawled towards a bed.
But as he got closer, he collapsed—giving in to the pain in his head. Soft fingers caressed his face and held his hand. He was sure he was in a woman's room. She carried him and placed him on her bed, giving it up for the chair two paces away.
Emon felt a gradual relief in his pain. He was sure it wasn't natural; it was something the woman was doing. But he did not have time for curiosity. He was awash with relief from his pain and he used it to find sleep. Sleep that had eluded him for three days.
Emon woke up to the sound of birds singing. The morning sun invaded the room through the open windows. Where am I? Emon noticed the off-white painted walls—clearly, he knew he was not in his room. He sat upright and took in the details of the room—before getting interrupted by approaching footsteps.
The door opened and passing through it was a rather tall woman. Her features were distinct from most—she was a Vestellan. Flay me alive. Only one Vestellan followed them on their journey to Velecor—the woman bearing his child.
Emon thought about just running through the door, but he knew that sooner or later he would have to confront her. Negrichor's own luck. "Who are you, then," Emon asked, despite knowing the answer.
She studied him. "My name is Emouri. You've regained your strength, yes?" She asked. Emon frowned. "Emouri, you present me with dilemmas, unwanted decisions and an arrow to the bullseye of my pride," he stood to meet her gaze. "I was drugged and you took advantage. Whether by your own device or through compulsion by another, it matters not."
She walked to him until they were an arm's length apart. "We all do what we must, High-Prince. Yes, High-Prince, that would be most appropriate. You're addressed by High-Prince in Velecor after all." she said coldly. "The waters of the Bounded Sea are salty," Emon said dryly. "Do you want salty water to be the last thing you taste before your death?" He withdrew his gaze from her eyes and set it on her belly.
That thing is a complication. "Well crafted" Emon chuckled." A trap that can only be seen after it has caught its prey," Emouri placed a hand on her belly. The babe growing in her was little more than a month old. "Would you cut off your arm if it touches shit?" Emouri remarked.
"You bandy words well with me. You're well educated, perhaps a noble? I have come to terms with the child. But you, the gallows...." "And what about your headaches?" She countered as she cut him off.
Maybe she really did do something. "Where.... where you the one who.....?" He asked calmly. "Do you think they would use me against you, if I was only useful in bearing a child?" Her reply left him stunned. "I would speak no more of this. We all do what we must," she said and then touched his forehead.
The headache was gone and Emon's bodily fatigue was relieved. "What.... what did you do just now?" Emon questioned. "Setting my trap. You will seek me, Emon. You will crave my presence. And you will drown in it," she went to her bed, took his black silk shirt and threw it to him.
Emon shook his head and proceeded to leave the room. "For the sake of clarity. I do not mean to drive a wedge between you and your wife because I want you. No. I was sent to make your life miserable," she said, then chuckled.
That whore of a Queen will pay. I swear it. Emon vowed as he left Emouri's cabin. Surely, Talia would understand? What if what she said was true? That I would be drawn to her like a mouse to cheese.
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Leolyn sat in the palace garden with his siblings Kellyn and Hyster. "Once with Leanor, we went into the kitchens past bedtime to steal cake," Kellyn said happily as she recounted her experiences in Velecor.
Kellyn and High-Princess Leanor became friends, but Leolyn's decision had separated them. "Brother, when can I visit her? Surely, you would like to see Emon again too," Kellyn's brown eyes glittered as she said it.
She was the daughter of Oswald's second wife, Haera. She inherited her mother's chestnut hair and eyes. But to Leolyn, she was family. "Perhaps one day, Kellyn. There are many girls your age here to play with too, you know," Leolyn said with a smile.
Hyster remained quiet all through. He was a perceptive one—someone Leolyn could not easily lie to. Hyster was Geldryn's child and inherited her dark blue hair, just like Leolyn.
For most, Geldryn had confined herself to her room since she came to Vestelle. She only walked around the estate sometimes, taking Hyster and Kellyn with her.
But all this served as an afterthought to Leolyn. He was anxious and impatient for the Queen to fulfill her other parts of the pact. Does she not yet trust me enough to give me back control of Dornwick? What about the marriage? Would that immortal pitch Queen wait till my bones have withered too? She won't even tell me her name.
"Gioro, take Kellyn and Hyster to their room," Leolyn said to the soldier standing guard. "Yes, Your Majesty," the tall black-haired man replied with a bow. The soldiers in Vestelle wore a black leather breastplate. His robe was split down from the hip area, revealing the black trousers worn underneath.
Leolyn had a mission tonight. Playing with his siblings wouldn't halt his purpose. After Gioro had led them to their rooms, Leolyn left the beautifully decorated and luxurious garden.
Leolyn had to deal with countless greetings from servants and nobles alike. At least they're getting used to me. Previously, he would have been the object of prying eyes, as though he were a never-before-seen beast.
Leolyn finally reached the path that would lead to her room. At the topmost floor of the palace, there was a door that led into a pit as deep as twice the length of the palace. If one were to jump from there, if he is allowed entry into her room, he will be transported there—if not, he will die in the fall.
Leolyn was not nervous at all. It was the third time he had visited her room—though on her request. He jumped headfirst into the pit. The pit was as large as the inside of a carriage and its darkness made the skin crawl.
About a quarter of the way through, Leolyn arrived in her room. She was sitting in front of her mirror and combing her hair. She had granted permission, so she knew he was here. But she didn't acknowledge his presence until a while. "What is it?" She asked dryly.
Leolyn took the privilege of approaching her. He grabbed the comb from her hand and continued combing her hair. She was startled but let him carry on. "Despite all I've done for your cause, you still don't trust me," he said with pain in his voice. "It was I who decided to use Emon. You only offered help. Yet you still don't trust me."
She remained expressionless. "I let you enter my room. That is trust enough." Leolyn dropped the comb on her almost bare lap. "I don't even know your name," Leolyn straightened his slightly bent grey mantle.
"Perhaps if only you didn't behave like a boy," she said blankly. "What?" Leolyn was startled. "I know you're older than my grandfather's father. But please, don't treat me like you would a child," he said confidently.
The Queen laughed. "You think you're fierce because you collared Emon?" She asked dryly. "It all went according to plan you said. But every picture you drew has my ink on it," she stood to meet his gaze.
She was the most beautiful woman he had seen. She was more beautiful than Emon's mother and Talia. "What do you mean?" Leolyn asked curiously.
"The Lonarym," the Queen said. "It has a side effect. When it is removed, the pain from the spear of the divine trait becomes greater. Emon would have head-splitting headaches intermittently, if he doesn't already," Leolyn took one step back.
The Queen took a step forward to close the distance. "You wanted Emon to remain miserable and for his relationship with his wife to be shattered. A shortsighted approach," Leolyn grimaced at her words.
"I used Emouri," she said smiling. "Since he would have headaches due to the Lonarym, it was better if Emouri was the one. Gradually, he would become dedicated to her and I'll gain a pawn at the heart of the Empire," she continued. Leolyn wore a look of astonishment. This woman.
The Queen returned to sit before her mirror. "You can leave now. You do have potential. I'll bring it out," said the Queen as she pointed towards the door.
She continued brushing her hair. "Dornwick would be yours when you're smart enough to hold it," she said to Leolyn who stood there in a daze.