5 Part 2 - Chapter 5 The King and the Unclean

The scent of jasmine invaded Lady Lyn's nostrils, who smiled in front the majestic view.

At the balcony of one of many verandas at Bran's castle, she played with her long dark hair, while imagining how her life would be two weeks ahead.

A queen. The Queen of Bran. The marriage would take place at the same day of Cedric's coronation and she couldn't be more anxious and happy. A perfect marriage, the highest position of the three kingdoms and the beauty and seduction of the man who made all girls sigh in admiration.

Cedric of Bran had inherited from his father the same lovable heart and the welcoming smile. However, she had no doubt that his best quality had come from his deceased mother, Queen Lidia. The aristocratic beauty, the well-assented black hair with matching eyes. Also, the generous mouth, a body that could make any servant envy… Cedric was a mix of childish sweetness and sexuality.

"Lyn!"

The masculine voice made her turn to face her future husband. The have met when they were both very young and, since the beginning, that man's look had fixed on her. Cedric had chosen her over all the branians of the kingdom, not for her heritage or for her spectacular beauty, but because he believed her to be her fated one, a romantic invitation to an unforgettable love.

"What are you doing here, in the cold?"

The man took off his coat and placed it over her shoulder. As always, a gentleman.

"I like to admire the flowers."

Cedric smiled. Lyn was as delicate as they were.

"Anxious?"

"For the marriage? No, I'm completely certain of my happiness."

He could barely refrain his satisfaction in his slightly open lips.

"I will love you until the end of my days," he promised.

"Me too..."

The words were followed by a chaste kiss. Although Cedric would invade her feminine dreams and made her hot under the skirts, Lyn knew that before the vows, they would never make any advances. She respected the rules and the future King was even more conservative.

"I think," he mumbled, as soon as they parted their lips, "that we should go to Cashel for our honeymoon."

"The land of the black men?"

"They say it's a beautiful place," he insisted. "That there are mountains so high that can touch the sky. The servants used to tell me that my father loved that green place. It's a pity that old King Lugus is so arrogant and full of himself, otherwise I would really appreciate visiting Cashel."

The news about Cashel were never good ones. In spite of its unique beauty, as many of the men who faced the War of a Thousand Days would describe during the festivals, the place was poor and ruled by a corrupted King. After winning the war, Atho didn't dethrone Lugus, just established higher taxes. It was a mistake. Lugus never ceased living comfortably, just made his people to suffer more to cover his luxury.

Cedric believed that, after being enthroned, he would be able to change that.

"Have you never been there?"

The question brought him back to the conversation.

"No. I know that some of the whites go there to buy seasonings, but… A formal visit? I have never heard anything about that."

She nodded.

"I sincerely would rather travel around Masha's kingdom, our brothers."

Cedric smiled. Cael's image came to his mind. Yes. Brothers. He had been raised by his uncle Iran, who, even though had never been crowned, was the sovereign in Masha. He had spent his childhood and his life beside the uncle's single child, Cael, for whom he nurtured a deep affection and love.

"Of course, my love," he agreed, immediately. "Your wish is my command."

Taking his fiancée's hands, he kissed them with devotion.

"Then, take me to a stroll in the garden," her request was followed by a gentle and innocent smile.

After he offered his arm to Lyn, the couple left the veranda.

***

Cael put his hands into the dish and got the biggest piece of lamb there. He took everything into his mouth, stuffing the food inside the best he could, and then faced the lad in front of him.

"You're disgusting."

The obvious words that came from Kian, his friend and squire, made him laugh. The image of that redhead with green eyes and a mouthful of food made the tanned man dizzy, born and raised as a branian, but he just rolled his eyes.

"Eating is the joy of life," Cael mumbled, letting out a few spits.

The other let him swallow his food, before proceeding:

"And fucking," Kian concluded, bringing out his comic side. "Or are you going to say that Lady Grace's brothel doesn't bring you much joy?"

The man agreed, with a laugh.

"You're right, my dear friend, I love a good fuck. The biggest the woman, the greatest the pleasure. I love a juicy meat I can touch fully while I bite and thrust mercilessly."

Kian laughed, throwing his head behind.

"You're lucky not to have a bride or a sister or anything of the sort for God Bran to punish you for these words."

"God Bran wouldn't do a thing. Goddess Masha, nonetheless, wouldn't like to hear me saying these things. Believe me. Luckily, we are quite far from my homeland and her feminine ears aren't able to hear from that far."

The sound of boots silenced him. Soon, Iran of Masha was entering the room, facing the two youngsters as if measuring them.

"What are you doing here?"

The question was directed to his son.

Cael raised his look to his father, fearfully. Iran, despite being near his fifty years old, still had around him an aura of severity and power. And Cael knew more than anyone how overwhelming was his father's power.

He had mistreated him since childhood. Always rejected, receiving nothing but surly and discouraging words. All those years, he fought not to be destroyed by his father. Even now, although he was already an adult, he still had goosebumps whenever they were in the same room.

"Always irresponsible, Cael," Iran said aloud. "So different from Cedric," he compared them as he was used to. "Why didn't you do as I demanded?"

"Because I'm not your footman," he said, facing him.

The slap almost knocked him down. In spite of that, he didn't lose the hardness of his body. Those tiny sentences, those little challenges, were something he had convinced himself to do over the years.

Don't be afraid of him! Face him!, he kept repeating to himself.

However, he only had the courage to practice it when he became an adult.

Every time he used his tactics of retorting, he was attacked in return. However, the violence had been a part of his life for as long as he remembered. He had been spanked for the first time at the age of three when, as soon as he arrived at Bran's palace, he had let a wooden toy of Cedric fall down, breaking it. Cedric's cry by seeing the toy ruined was followed by his, after being severely beaten with a quince stick, which gave him the first scars in his back.

Then forth, the scars only increased. All of them, with no exception, involving Cedric. He would be beaten for any wrong word said to the Young king or anything that could possibly hurt him. However, he knew Cedric wasn't aware of the aggressions. His father had never made any mention of slapping him in the front of the younger. He would usually call him for a talk and drive him to a hut, where he would tie him to wood stakes and spank him until his hands ran out of strength.

After that, he would force him to wear a coat over his bloody white shirt and promise him much more in case anyone got to know about those punishments.

A son should never dishonor his father. It was a law at any of the kingdoms. Even though the religions had some difference in their dogmas, the three Gods that ruled the world agreed in that determination.

And Cael, in spite of all his faults, had never dishonored Iran.

"Wash my boots and clean my closets," Iran pointed, "this should be every child's right to their fathers."

A right? Even so, Cael would do it with great pleasure if the father in question deserved so.

"I will be the King of Masha and..."

"You will never be the King," Iran interrupted him. "I couldn't convince Cedric to marry a mashian because he is totally in love with Lady Lyn, but believe me: I will do everything to make Cedric's son to fulfill this duty. Atho's blood will join Masha's making the two kingdoms one. Therefore, you shall never be crowned.

Cael faced him with obvious rage. It was his right, how could he take it from him?

"I am your son," he mumbled, trying to bring his father to the light.

Iran smiled.

"My son is the son of Atho, Cedric. You are just the result of a nasty fuck I had to perform with the bitch who gave birth to you."

Kian, who was unperturbed until he widened his eyes at those words, in a total shock. A soft move of his arms, however, made the older man change the subject.

"As a punishment for your disobedience, I want you to carry the fire melted iron from the forgery to the river, and back again."

"What?"

The act seemed cruel, even for the father.

"Are you going to burn my hands? And humiliate me even more than you've done already?"

"Use an iron can," he determined. "And enjoy the darkness to fulfill your duty because if you don't, you can rest assure that your hands will be the last of your concerns."

***

"You should run away," Kian suggested when he saw his friend filling the can with the hot liquid iron.

"Where to? Cashel?" he laughed. "Look at me. I'm a white man; casheans would kill me if they caught me alone."

Kian sighed, defeated.

"Just don't do this. It is madness. Also, your father has no way to know you will go all the way."

"He will," Cael affirmed. "He knows everything. He knows it all. Believe me; it's better to have my hand burned than being taken to that hut."

The other nodded, watching him cover his hands with cloth stripes, in an attempt to protect them.

"This old son of a bitch," Cael mumbled. "He knows it's heavy. He probably wished me to throw it all over myself and die."

His statement shocked his friend, who did nothing to hide his surprise.

"He is afraid of Bran and Masha. Actually, it's only the fear of the Gods that prevent him to kill me. Therefore, he wishes for me to take my own life," he laughed. "He will have to sit and wait, though; for I made Masha a vow to bury him."

Kian covered his own hands and helped his friend in placing the hot can over his shoulders. As soon as he felt the weight over him, Cael moaned.

"You can go," he said to the other lad. "You don't have to go through this shame."

The other denied.

"I don't mind. I'll go with you."

His loyalty made Cael smile. Moving ahead, he left the forgery and started walking through the path ordered by his father.

***

"There is an old legend," Cedric mumbled, picking up a rose and giving it to his beloved one, "that says that, when Bran created his kingdom, he noticed the roses had no scent. Then, he thought seriously about what kind of perfume it should have and, that night, when he went to Masha to question her about it, he felt that her aroma was so good, he decided to give it to his favorite flowers."

Lyn smiled.

"Do you think the Gods love each other?"

"I don't know," he was sincere. "Some people say that Masha, Cashel and Bran are siblings. Others say they are enemies…"

"I would love to meet the Gods," she interrupted him, excitedly.

"Who wouldn't?" he joked. "But there had been many ages since they were seen for the last time. The priest say they live above us, in the clouds, watching over us, punishing and protecting us according to our actions."

Lyn nodded.

Suddenly, the sound of steps made Cedric turn left. From the sound of it, it seemed to be a group of men, but none of them was authorized to cross through the garden at that time, apart from his uncle and Cael.

"Stay here," he told her, walking towards noise.

However, he didn't manage to take two steps before someone coming from behind the rosebushes surprised him. They bumped into each other and before he could grasp the situation, he felt something hot running over his face and sliding over his body.

Something extremely hot…

His face was on fire while his scream pierced the silence of the night.

"Cedric!" he recognized Cael's voice.

Unable to bear the pain, he fell on the floor, passing out.

***

The only sound in an extension of a thousand meters was the soft crepitation of the leaves as they were smashed by the steady feet. The black man, almost two meters tall, looked ahead trying to find among the countless trees on that forest any trace of the scarlet hair, the color that would denounce his prey.

They had gone in three, that morning, to Randu's house, the unworthy son of King Lugus. Days before, they hid themselves around the house, trying to check on the familiar routine of the lad and his sister, the unclean Emerald. At sunrise, the siblings would work on the farm and, after lunch, he would go alone to the corn plantations while the girl remained in the house, cleaning it. In the evening, they would train with their swords.

Both were quite skilled in handling the weapon, he thought, but he knew that a woman alone couldn't handle three big strong men.

From the moment the men from the nearest village had discovered an unclean living in one of the houses close to the mountain in an abandoned area, they couldn't rest until they had planned an ambush with the intent to rape and kill that damned mashian-blood.

Nevertheless, nothing had gone as planned. The damned girl, with her long curly hair, had nothing to do with the frail woman that her delicate shoulders indicated. She was a devil, as fast as a rattlesnake and knocked down his friends in a few minutes. She got tired after the second combat, but even then, when he advanced on her, she managed to unbalance him and to run into the forest.

He could barely wait to put his hands on her. He wanted to invade that body, to fuck her until he lost his strength and then strangle that white neck, twisting it until she would run out of air and die from asphyxia.

Two steps and he halted. A sound far away turned his blood into ice. It sounded like a male voice… a man shouting his sister's name.

Was Randu back? He was a powerful warrior, trained personally by the former Queen and had God Cashel's blood running in his veins. There was no man in the world that had no fear of the royal blood.

He turned towards the voice. Nonetheless, before he could think straight, a small figure showed before him. The emerald green eyes sparkled in satisfaction before her sword penetrated his throat.

He wanted to suffocate her to death. However, she was the one who managed to do so. The man faced her, while his blood was invading his larynges and he felt his lungs running out of air. He fell on the floor, his hands around his own throat, uncertain about letting the blood flow or trying to restrain it.

"Emerald!"

The sound in the background was more distinct now. She stayed still, facing him while he was agonizing.

"For Cashel!" The figure of a man appeared beside her. "What have you done?"

And then, everything faded away.

***

"Our mother didn't teach me the art of the sword for me to go around killing people," Randu reprehended her.

From inside a hole, he was digging in a constant rhythm the grave where he would place the three bodies.

Emerald faced his brother's wide back. Randu was a very beautiful man. His dark complexion matched his intense eyes. Tall, muscled and strong, just by his looks no one would tell how kind and sweet he was. Only her, who knew him so well, was aware of such attribute.

From the moment she managed to hold a sword, her brother started to teach her how to handle it. Even if the boy's intention was to prepare her to defend herself, Emerald never accepted that and started training by herself in order to attack, advance and destroy.

The girl was sitting beside the bodies; her face had not trace of emotions. With her pale hands, she was playing with her pendant made of the precious stone, while hearing his brother babbling.

"Do you know what will they do as soon as they realize that these men haven't returned home?"

"Their wives will probably raise their hands to the sky and thank Cashel for it."

"I'm not kidding!" he reprimanded her. "They might try to avenge them."

"Let them come!" she shrugged.

"You irresponsible!" he shout. "You have no idea what they might do to you in case they..."

"They catch me," she interrupted him. "This will never happen."

The hole got ready. Randu climbed out of it and went to his sister. He offered her his hand, helping the girl to her feet. They stared at each other for a moment.

"I fear for you, my sister," he confessed, with worried eyes.

"You're a fool," she sweetened her words with an enigmatic smile. "No one will destroy me before I'm able to fulfill my destiny."

He released her with a sigh.

"I've already ordered you to forget about it," he took the hands of the first corpse and started dragging it to the hole.

"I'm going to kill that man," she affirmed. "I'll avenge our mother."

"Our mother never asked for revenge. Her wish was only for us to leave in peace."

The girl's eyes burned with rage.

"You would be King if it wasn't for that damned mashian."

"When have you ever heard me complaining about my fate?"

The question finally silenced her. She looked away, annoyed. Randu went to the second body and he pulled it towards the hole as well.

While he was moving to the third one, she started to consider how different their personalities were. While inside her everything was about that increasing hate, he was generous and merciful. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought that, perhaps, she would have to part ways with her brother in order to go on with her plans for revenge.

"You have no idea who he is," Randu seemed to read her thoughts.

"I have a clue," she pointed to her emerald pendant.

"And you think you can go around Masha asking for the owner of this necklace? You are certainly naïve!"

"I'll find a way," she insisted. "I'm going to find who this man is and I'll chop his head off with my sword!"

In the end, the three unfortunate men who crossed her path ended inside the grave. Randu took the shovel and started to fill the hole with dirt.

"Our world is a tough place, my sister. Not only Cashel. None of the three kingdoms is a good place for a woman. Let alone an unclean one."

She knew it quite well.

"Let's just live peacefully here," he asked.

"And watch our days passing by while we feed on our rage for all that was taken from us? You, the throne? And I, my dignity?"

The lad dropped out the shovel and went to his sister.

"One day you will realize that none of these matters when we are close to the ones we love, our family."

She refused to acknowledge those words, but she knew they were the truth.