Shadows Of Desire

Rowan sat on his bed, the vile of potion Emilia had given him held tightly in his hand. He looked up, his eyes drifting over his white and gold wedding suit. Wedding suit. He thought with a bitter laugh. Soon to be my burial shroud. He looked down at the vial in his hand once more. There was a good chance that what he held in his hand was actual poison and not the sleeping potion that Emilia claimed it was. Rowan knew that.

Lady Emilia, like her mother, had no love for Rowan. Murdering him would be easy for them, especially if they could convince him to do the deed himself. This was why he hesitated to bring the vial to his mouth and drink it. With the threat of actual death looming over him he wasn’t sure that he could go through with it. What was his alternative though? Run? Lord Killian had already warned him against that. If Rowan ran Lord Killian would kill him with his own hands. His other option was to go through with the marriage.

He sighed, none of his choices seemed that great. Each ended with death. Well, marrying Lord Killian wasn’t an absolute death sentence but close enough. He couldn’t imagine being married to the man. His reasons weren’t just what he had seen with his own eyes, if that wasn’t bad enough, but the things he’d heard about the man made his skin crawl. Lord Killian was known for his cruelty and his excessive punishments of both his servants and the people he governed in his own lands.

The most recent story to come out of Grayholm was of a commoner with lands he rented from Lord Killian. The property held a small cottage and barn with limited live stock and a small parcel of land that he farmed. The man was a widower with four sons and three daughters. The man was blood born of course, having once been human, and his children, though born vampires, did not come from noble blood so were considered blood born as well. This made them less in Killian’s eyes. The human blood from their father tainting their blood line.

One particularly hot and dry summer made planting more difficult and come harvest time, his yield was not what he had expected it to be and so brought in little profit. The farmer tried to explain this to Lord Killian. He pleaded to his landlord to give him more time to raise the rent money. He had seven children to feed, animals to care for, and a farm to run. Lord Killian had no compassion for the man though or his starving children and threatened to throw the lot of them off his land. The farmer begged him to reconsider.

Lord Killian’s heart was hardened to the man’s pleas but he was willing to make a deal with him that would allow him to remain on the land for another season. Lord Killian normally didn’t make such deals but he had, on multiple occasions, visited the farm and became quite enamored with the farmer’s youngest daughter, Sabina. She was a beauty in her own right. Though much too thin, she still maintained quite a curvy figure. Her golden hair framed her heart shaped face perfectly, and her milky white skin shone in the moonlight. She was truly a sight to behold.

Lord Killian demanded the girl as payment. At first her father refused but knowing he had no way to pay his debt and having been given a promise by Lord Killian that the girl would not be harmed, the farmer finally gave in. Killian then took Sabina to his manor house where, for several months, she was kept as his mistress. Rowan didn’t know if Lord Killian had mistreated the girl while she was in his care but he could only imagine. Soon though, Killian grew tiered of her and took on a new lover. Sabina was then given to Killian’s guards where she was continuously beaten and raped.

Not able to withstand more of the abuse and Lord Killian refusing to send her home to her family, Sabina eventually killed herself. Rowan heard that Lord Killian was angry more than anything else. Angry because he’d lost his personal property, not because a young girl lost her life. Her demanded compensation from the girls father--one of his remaining two daughters--and when the farmer refused, Killian had his house burned to the ground, seized his life stock, and forced the man and his children off his lands.

This was only one of many stories that had come out of Grayholm. Lord Killian was a tyrant. A cruel, heartless, lecherous, snake. Rowan could only imagine what would become of the kingdom if Lord Killian were left to rule. Rowan figured he’d be safe until Killian took the throne then, who knows what would happen to him. Maybe Killian would grow tired of him as well and his fate would be the same as poor Sabina’s had been.

Rowan shuttered at the thought. No. He could not allow that to happen. His father was a cruel and heartless bastard but at least he’d kept Rowan’s virtue safely guarded. The same couldn’t be said of Lord Killian as he’d already made his intentions perfectly clear. Perhaps death wasn’t such a bad option after all.

Rowan uncorked the vial and, after taking a deep breath, brought the vial to his parted lips. The black liquid oozed down the vial, snaking it’s way along the glass, slow, like mud, nearly reaching his lips when, to Rowan’s great surprise, the vial was violently slapped out of his hand. Down it went, hitting the stone floor with a crack as the glass shattered and the dark sludge splattered against the floor, seeping between the cracks in the stones.

Rowan looked up, his face a mixture of shock and anger. It was then that he felt a sharp, stinging slap across his face. He yelped, his hand going to his cheek as he stared in disbelief at his servant who was now standing over him, her eyes wide and accusing as she glared at him. He’d never seen her so angry, so full of rage, and...something more. Sadness. A deep and profound sadness. He realized only then that she was crying.

“Have ya lost yer mind?” She yelled. “I know ya don’t want to go through with this marriage, but is it really worth killin yerself over?”

“No.” Rowan looked up, eyes wide. “I wasn’t, I swear. It’s not poison.”

“Then what is it?” She asked, staring him down, hard. ” Cause it sure looks like poison to me.”

“It’s a sleeping potion.” Rowan explained. He then went on to tell her about his conversation with Emilia and how she had given him the vial. He explained the plan, down to the last detail. When he was done, Folen only shook her head and sighed, frustration evident on her normally serene face.

“A sleeping potion?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? ’an here I was thinkin yer smarter than that. Sorry, love, but I’d trust that harpy Emilia about as far as I could throw ’er ’an that ain’t very far.”

Rowan sulked against the bed post. “What if she’s telling the truth though? It may be my only was out of this.”

Folen knelt down and stuck a finger into the glob of black sludge that was still visible on the floor. She stood, bringing the goo coated finger to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes went wide and she spat at the floor, wiping her finger on her apron. “It’s viramyth.” She growled.

Rowan looked at her, confused. “What’s viramyth?” He asked.

“A concoction of dead blood, rose leaf, and juniper. The only poison known to kill a vamp.”

Rowan let out a ragged breath and frowned. “Witches Moss.”

“Aye, Lad. Witches Moss.”

Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I should have known.”

“Ya dinna think she’d really be helpin now did ya?”

“I guess, I hoped that she wouldn’t go as far as actually trying to murder me. I thought she just wanted me out of the way so she could marry Lord Killian herself.”

Folen walked over and sat on the bed next to him. “That woulda got ya outta the way for sure, lad.”

Rowan hung his head in defeat. “I suppose I have no other choice now but to go through with this marriage. If I try to run, he’ll kill me. I’m out of options.”

Folen put a hand on Rowan’s back and began rubbing circles on it. “Do ya really want out of it that badly?”

Rowan nodded, looking up to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want anything to do with him. You’ve heard the stories. You know what kind of man he is. If I marry him, my life is over. I might as well be dead.”

Folen sat quietly for the next several minutes. She hated seeing Rowan so distraught. Over the years she’d seem him depressed, and withdrawn. She was there when he attempted suicide after his mother’s death. She knew what was in the boys heart and she wept inside for him. She’d never had a love for vampires but Rowan was different. He was kind, selfless, and had shown her compassion when no others had. She loved him. Loved him as though he were her own child and seeing him suffering now was more than she could handle.

With a weary sigh, she stood up and looked down at the boy she had come to think of as more than a master, more than a friend. She saw him as family, and she knew his heart was breaking. “Wait here, love.” She told him. “An don’t ya be doin’ anythin stupid. I’ll be back soon.”

Rowan nodded, giving her promise to wait. What could he do now anyway, short of slitting his own throat? As soon as Folen was gone from his sight, Rowan lay back on his bed and stared up at the canopy as he often did when he was upset. He realized just then that this would be the last time he’d ever do that. The last time he’d ever lay on his bed, in his room. It was the last night he would spend in his father’s palace. His wedding night would be spent in Lord Killian’s bed and he’d...Rowan closed his eyes, trying to force those thoughts out of his mind.

“Don’t.” He whispered into empty room. “Don’t think of it, of him, push it out of your mind.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t force out the images of the first night he’d seen Lord Killian. The youth between his legs, the naked women preforming various sex acts on Lord Killian’s guests. Even the image of Lady Emilia on the couch and Lord Killian thrusting into her. Was that what his future was going to be like? Was he going to be used, over and over again, fucked and abused until he remained nothing more than a broken shell of his former self? Was that his life now?

Rowan rolled onto his side and pushed his face into the pillow as he began to cry. He wouldn’t show weakness in the presence of others but he was alone now, in the safety of his own rooms. He could cry in here. He could scream his lungs out and wail like a banshee and no one would hear. He was totally and utterly alone.

***

Forty minutes had passed since Folen had left Rowan’s room. By the time she had returned, Rowan was asleep. She walked to his bed and gently tapped his shoulder. “Rowan.” She softly called his name. “Rowan, child, wake up.”

Rowan opened his eyes, yawned, then rolled over to see Folen standing beside his bed. He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard as Folen sat down next to him.

“Where did you go?” He asked her, groggily.

“To get somethin that will help ya, child.”

Rowan looked skeptical, not believing at this point that anything could help him. “How can you help me?” He asked, looking down at his hands as he gripped the blankets tightly. “I’m as good as dead.”

“No, love. Not dead. But, if ye wish to feign death, that I can help ya with.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out an item no bigger than an acorn. She opened her hand and held it up for Rowan to see. There, sitting on her palm was a small brown pod with a green sprout just barely visible breaking through the shell of the pod.

Rowan narrowed his eyes as he inspected the pod. “What is it?” He asked.

“Anisseed. From the anisyel tree.”

“I’ve never heard of an anisyel tree.” Rowan told her.

“Ya wouldn’t. They only grow in Odon, in the Oanke forest.”

Rowan gasped, his eyes going wide. “Folen, that’s...” He stopped himself before he could utter the word for fear something lurking in the shadows might overhear.

Folen only nodded. “Fairy magic.” She said in a whisper as she placed the seedling in Rowan’s hand, curling his fingers over it then grasped his hands within her own. “You ’an I both know what will happen if yer caught with this. Ya have to decide now if this is what ya truly want because there be no going back.”

Rowan locked eyes with Folen so she would know that he was serious. There wasn’t even a question nor doubt in his mind about it. What she was offering him was a way out. A way that didn’t involve actual death. How could he say no to that. “I’m sure.” Rowan told her. “This is what I want. If I have to marry him, I won’t survive. I’m barely surviving now.” He chuckled bitterly. “I want so much more than I can ever have here or with Lord Killian. Being hidden away here in the palace is choking the life out of me. I was never meant to be caged and that’s what this place is. It’s one big, gilded, cage and I need to escape it.”

Folen gave his hand a loving pat and she nodded slowly, tears in her eyes. She knew what he was saying was true. Rowan was like a beautiful, but rare flower, blooming against all odds in a garden of weeds. Such a flower could survive, for a while, but soon it would become over shadowed by the wild flora surrounding it, and it would wilt, starved of light and nourishment, and eventually die.

Rowan was beginning to wilt now. She could see the light leaving his eyes. Those once bright, and vibrant, emerald eyes were now dull and listless. He was withering away in this place, growing weaker as the life drained out of him. He wouldn’t last much longer. He needed room to grow, wild and free, and she knew, he would never get that here. The palace, King Desmond, and Lord Killian. Those were the real poison. They had seeped in, under his skin, into his blood, and were slowly poisoning his heart. But the seedling in his hand, that was the cure. She just hoped he was yet strong enough to allow it to take root and set him free.

“I’ll draw ya a hot bath.” She told him. “I’ll wash yer hair for ya. Then, we’ll get ya dressed in yer night clothes. Once yer in yer bed, crack the shell and remove the seed. Put it in yer mouth and swallow it down with a glass of rose water.”

“W-what will happen to me?” He asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Ye will drift off into the most peaceful sleep ya have e’er known. To those around ya, it will appear as tho death has taken ya. Tis only a false death though as ye shall be locked in a death like slumber. Three nights shall ye sleep. Then, on the forth night, I’ll come to yer place of internment, and administer the antidote. From there, ye will leave this place and ne’er return. Start yer life anew. Yer tomb be sealed again and none here shall be the wiser.”

“And what of you?” Rowan asked suddenly. “What will become of you, once I am gone?”

Folen smiled warmly at him and shook her head. “Ya need not be worried for me, child. I’ve managed for hundreds of years and will continue to do so.”

“But why stay?” He asked, confused. “Surly there’s nothing keeping you here. Use your magic, escape this place with me. Together we can...”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Nay, child. I’ll not be leaven. My place is here.”

“But why? What is keeping you here?”

“I have me reasons.” She told him. He started to protest again but she placed a finger to his lips to silence him. Rowan kissed her fingers as tears sprang to his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave you behind.” He cried against her tender hand. “You’ve been more than a servant to me. You’ve been like a mother. I fear what will happen to you, what the King will do to you. The vampire Kingdom is not kind to Fae, if that is what you are, as I suspect.”

“Now, none of that, young man.” She brushed his hair back and smiled, looking into his eyes so full of pain and regret. “Ye too have been like a son to me and I cherish ya. I’ll never leave ya. Never. I’ll always exist in here.” She touched her hand over his heart. “Keep me here, love, and I’ll always be with ya.” She stood and looked down, smiling a wan smile. “Now, dry yer eyes, love and I’ll go prepare yer bath.”

Before Rowan could protest further, Folen left the room. Rowan opened his hand and looked at the small seed laying on his opened palm. This...this tiny thing. So insignificant looking, was his key to freedom. He’d be lying if he claimed to not be scared but epic songs and poetry were never written about cowards, and he’d be dammed if he were going to allow something as inconsequential as fear keep him from his destiny. Tonight he would deliver himself into the icy claws of death and in four days time, he would rise from his own death as a phoenix rises from it’s own ashes. Then, and only then, will his life truly begin.