Chapter 1

The High King Aslan gazed broodingly at the horde of writhing bodies of his courtiers, as they clung indecently close to one another. All sense of propriety lost beneath the perverse rhythm of the music the mages strung from their magic infused instruments.

The pulsating beats hypnotized them, making them shed all inhibitions and modesty as they lost themselves not only to the music but also to the shadows that engulfed the vast cavernous hall.

The seductive glow of candles and heady perfume of night blooming roses, that were blooming across the length of rich green ivy crawling up the stone walls, added to the atmosphere, allowing people to over indulge in wine and potions to inebriate their senses and conscience.

He'd had enough of the debauchery, the perverse pleasure and hedonistic desires. He'd tired of the pleasures of the flesh long ago, the gratification morphing into disgust. Disgust at being such a hapless slave to one's desires. Especially after the cannabis induced haze lifted from his senses.

And yet he had to sit there every night looking on sullenly at the depraved revelry. Sit on a throne crafted from white gold in the shape of a fearsome two headed snake. The long scaly body twisted in large knots to form the back of the throne, while the two heads served as arm rests peering out menacingly with glittering ruby red eyes.

With his strong arms draped over them, it looked as if he were petting his pets, who would attack with single command from him, morphing from stone to a slithering hissing creature with venom dripping down the length of its fangs.

A throne that wielded more power than one could imagine.

He'd once craved that power, craved it from the very depths of his dastardly  soul. When he was young and ambitious. When he'd been a fool, eager to shackle himself to the burden that came with the throne.

And yet for all his resentment he was loathe to give it up. Give up the power and prestige that came with it. He'd become addicted to it, craved it with the same insidious corruption that coursed through his debauched courtiers.

"Sire."

His grace drifted to find Mirakeel, his minister of defence and most trusted advisor bowing low to his left, his head held low on deference.

"What is it, Mirakeel? Why aren't you down there partaking in the fun?" Aslan asked a sneer in his voice.

Mirakeel cleared his throat as he straightened, "Sire, the King of Endelwood has sent a missive."

Aslan looked at his advisor, his steely grey eyes growing dark, as a virulent rage whirled  in their depths.

His face had hardened, the sharp cut of his cheekbones and jaw growing more pronounced, as if carved from stone.

His strong powerful body rippled with rage, his hands clenched into white knuckles fists as the deep crimson jewels on his fingers glowed ominously in the flickering candlelight.

It seemed if any moment he would pounce and unleash his formidable fury on everyone in his midst.

However, a moment later, the tension went out of his body as he lay back languidly in his seat, a mask of indifference slipping over his features.

"Did he now?" Aslan drawled acerbically, "Well, I see this evening isn't going to be a complete waste. Let's go see what his highness has to say."

Aslan rose with predatory grace, his steady gaze sweeping over the spectacle of his subjects, as he stepped down from the dais.

A hush fell over the crowd, as their king made his way through. Courtiers in bawdy costumes and in various stages of disarray parted in deference, carving a natural path through the crush.

Aslan wove his way through the crowd in long determined strides, Mirakeel trailing at his heel. Guards liveried in crimson and gold pushed open the heavy ornate wooden doors of the hall, the sound echoing like thunder in the stone hall.

"Where is the messenger?" Aslan inquired as they walked through a long corridor illuminated by torches burning in metal sconces along the sone walls.

"He's been put in the room, where you normally meet with emissaries." Mirakeel replied.

"Such courtesy bestowed on our enemy?" Aslan turned back to look at his advisor.

"He's brough the message of capitulation-Eldwood has finally acceded to our demands. They've agreed to pledge allegiance to you if you revoke the embargo on them and allow all our allies to resume trade relations with them," Mirakeel answered instead.

Aslan made a sound derision, "They don't think they can ply me with their flimsy allegiance, do they? After all, why should I cater to any of their demands, when I know its only a matter of time before I wear them down. Weaken them so thoroughly, that they'll come crawling to me for mercy."

Mirakeel shrugged, "Oh I think they've thought of something else to ply you with."

"Oh really," Aslan asked mild curousity churning inside him, "And what is it that Eldwood can possibly use to win me over and accept anything but complete and utter surrender. Especially after all the trouble they've caused me."

"You'll see for yourself," Mirakeel said as they turned to the left and walked down another corridor, beyond which was a large wooden door, a large snakehead, resembling the snake on his throne, carved in intricate detail with fine gold gilding tracing its edges.

The guards at the door bowed low before opening the door. The door heavy wood door groaned open, revealing a large sitting room, furnished in luxurious mahogany furniture and sweeping shades of scarlet and jeweled green.

A delegation of five stood up from their plush cushioned seats, bowing slightly.

"Your Highness," A man with dark hair and pale green eyes greeted Aslan.

Aslan stared imperiously at the man, not bothering to respond, as he stood looming in the doorway.

Unnerved by the stony silence, the man straightened, clearing  his throat nervously.

"My name is Gaston, minister of foreign relations for his highness, Bastion Grimsay, the King of Endelwood. I've led this delegation on his majesty's behest, to communicate our desire to have peace between the two kingdoms."

Aslan tilted his head to the side, as he regarded the man in front of him with a wicked disparaging grin, his remote façade finally cracking.

"Ah, so you're Bastion's henchmen are you? Bastion that bastard."

Gaston grimaced at the insult but kept his tone deferent, "He would like an opportunity to speak with you and discuss terms of a truce-a treaty if you will."

"Truce?" Aslan asked as he leveled the man with his cruel mocking gaze. "What truce? We aren't at war, no attack has been launched from our side, at least not that I know of, isn't that so, Mirakeel?"

Mirakeel shook his head, "No sire. No offence has been launched from our side."

"There," Aslan continued with his game, "Now tell me. What sort of truce does your king want?"

"He wants you to lift the trade embargoes placed on Endelwood. In return he'll  give his allegiance to you. But he requests a meeting to discuss some of the finer details, and some of our demands." Gaston said, keeping his voice steady, even as anxiety brewed inside him.

Aslan smirked, " I'm sure he does. But Gaston, you seem like a sensible fellow to me. Tell me why would I give in to any of your demands, when I could easily win your allegiance soon enough without catering to any of your demands."

"Because you owe us a debt." A smooth voice carried out from somewhere in the room.

Aslan looked up barely concealing the surprise from his features as a small figure stepped forward, pushing back the hood of her dove grey cloak.

Gleaming obsidian waves tumbled down the length of her back, spilling like swirls of ink over her thin shoulders. Her dark eyes were moist, the sheen almost as if her pupils were made of blown glass, and the long fans of her eyelashes cast sweeping shadows across elegant high cheekbones. A natural flush blooming across her alabaster skin.

Gaston shot her an annoyed look, before stepping aside as he introduced her, "Your Highness, may I present Her royal Highness, Princess Odette Grimsay, daughter of King Bastion and Queen Mandala."