Almera Troubled

The flickering torchlight gave the marble walls a golden aura. An immense hall adorned with carved columns stood before her. In the center, a crescent-shaped basin filled with crystalline water, scented with rare essences, shimmered under the dim light. Delicate mosaics decorated the walls and floor, adding a touch of refinement to the space.

In the center of the basin, lying nonchalantly in the warm water that touched her shoulders, was Almera. Her ebony hair, spread around her like a dark crown, floated gently on the surface. Her face, closed and inscrutable, revealed nothing of her thoughts. She embodied a cold, sculptural beauty, almost unreal.

Three men were bustling around her with silent devotion. The first, a man with alabaster skin and golden hair, stood behind her, his fingers sliding delicately through her hair, washing it with meticulous care. Every movement was precise, methodical.

To her right, another man, with austere features and a strong physique, was gently scrubbing her right arm with a sponge soaked in fragrant oil. His movements were slow, almost reverent, his eyes lowered as if he feared meeting the matron's gaze.

The third man, with dark eyes and tanned skin, was attending to Almera's left arm. His hands, skilled and precise, massaged and cleaned her skin with almost surgical precision. Occasionally, he would dip the sponge into the water, slowly wringing it out before resuming his silent task.

The silence of the room was only broken by the soft murmur of water and the rustling of towels. The three men worked with an almost mechanical routine. Almera, her eyes half-closed, seemed lost in her thoughts, her lips barely moving as she murmured barely audible orders.

"More pressure," she murmured, her voice soft yet imperious, addressing the man to her right. He immediately complied, his fingers pressing more firmly on the matron's glistening skin.

Almera slowly raised her hand, her index finger lightly touching the surface of the water in a languorous gesture. The three men immediately stopped, their eyes fixed on her, awaiting her next instructions. The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended on the matron's every word.

"...I am troubled," Almera murmured, her soft and sensual voice resonating in the silent room. "Everything is finally falling into place... but... I feel a storm brewing, a storm that threatens to engulf everything."

Her dark gaze swept over the faces of the three men. But their faces remained impassive, their expressions neutral.

"I just said that I am troubled," Almera repeated, her voice strengthening slightly. "Do I need to ask for my husbands here to intervene?"

The man with golden hair, standing behind her, straightened slightly. His fingers ceased weaving the ebony strands but he did not move an inch.

"Mistress," he said in a deep and respectful voice, "please, do not trouble yourself. If you sense a threat, do not hesitate to tell us. We will make it disappear at once."

Almera sighed, her eyes closing briefly. "Always so radical, Galen," she murmured. "But this storm... it is different."

The tanned-skinned man, who was massaging Almera's left arm, spoke up. "Mistress," he said in a gentle and reassuring voice, "do not doubt your strength. You succeeded in imprisoning Damaris Zahad, the Titaness, and established yourself as the shadow sovereign of Zion. What is this storm before you if not a gentle breeze?"

Almera nodded slowly, a slight smile forming on her lips. "You are right, Lyard," she said. "I am letting my fears get the better of me." She tilted her head, her piercing eyes resting on the man to her right. "And you, Zelor? Do you not have a vision, an oracle for your beloved wife?"

Zelor, whose right hand was still scrubbing Almera's arm with an oil-soaked sponge, raised his eyes for the first time.

He shifted his gaze from his task to fix it on Almera. His eyes, usually so neutral, lit up with a supernatural glow. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and resonant, as if coming from another world.

"Mistress," he said, "I see mists gathering on the horizon, obscuring the sunlight. I sense a force assembling."

A shiver ran through the assembly. Almera remained impassive, but her dark eyes narrowed slightly.

"Tell me more, Zelor," she ordered. "Who is behind this threat?"

Zelor closed his eyes, focusing on his vision. "I see no faces," he said. "But I sense a visceral hatred, a desire for revenge."

Almera closed her eyes, focusing on her inner senses. Suddenly, an image surged into her mind: a familiar face, a cruel smile, looking at her with fierce hatred. Almera abruptly opened her eyes, a new determination in her gaze. "I see only one person," she said, her voice resonating in the hall. "It's Damaris. She will break her chains and come back for revenge."

Galen and Lyard exchanged worried looks.

"Mistress," Galen quickly said, his voice soothing, "Zelor has the gift of visions, but his predictions are not always accurate. Damaris is bound by Lady Mervyln's golden chains, and everyone knows their power. It's unlikely she can break free."

Lyard nodded in agreement. "Furthermore," he added, "even if she were to escape, her power has been greatly diminished. She wouldn't be a match for you, Mistress."

Almera fixed them with her piercing black eyes. "Do not underestimate Damaris," she growled. "Until I personally burn her body and scatter her ashes to the four winds, she remains a sword hanging over my head."

"We are here to protect you, Mistress," said Galen. "No one will ever be able to reach you."

"Besides, the execution is tomorrow," Lyard affirmed. "Soon, Damaris Zahad will be just a memory."

Almera closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her husbands' words seep into her mind. She knew they spoke the truth, but a shadow lingered in her thoughts. She rose slowly from the basin, crystalline water cascading down her radiant skin. The three men immediately stood up, ready to assist her.

"Enough for tonight," she declared in a soft but firm voice.

Galen, Lyard, and Zelor exchanged knowing glances and moved into action, fetching towels to dry her and silk robes to dress her. Almera watched them with distant attention, her thoughts drifting towards the impending execution. This victory had to be absolute, without the slightest flaw.

As they finished dressing her, a servant discreetly entered the room, bowing deeply before speaking. "Mistress," she said, "an urgent message from Lady Mervyln has arrived."

Almera frowned slightly. "Bring it to me," she ordered.

The servant approached, holding a missive sealed with a golden seal. Almera took it, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes quickly scanned the written lines.

"What is it, Mistress?" Lyard asked, noticing his wife's tense expression.

"The golden chains..." Almera replied in a cold voice. "They have broken."