Shadows Of Desire

Rowan had been dressed in his bridal suit. His hair neatly brushed and a circular reef of golden leaves placed on his head. His hands were folded and placed on his chest with a white lily held between his fingers. His head rested on a white satin pillow and a white shroud was placed over him. He looked serene, peaceful...merely sleeping.

King Desmond stood before the coffin where his son lay but the look on his face was not of sorrow or grief, as one would expect from a grieving father, but of anger and hate. He glared at the servants who had gathered around the sleeping Prince, daring them to utter a single sound. Not a tear was shed for fear the King would punish any who did.

Lady Caroline stood next to the King, looking complacent as she looked over the body. Emilia stood to her mother’s left, near Lord Killian who stood, brooding, as he looked upon his fiance with a pensive stare. His eyes narrowed and he balled his hands into two tight fists as he clenched his jaw.

Emilia hooked her arm through his and leaned into him but Killian immediately pulled back, glaring at her angrily. “I would advise you to keep your hands off me, my Lady. Lest you wish to lose an arm.” He sneered.

“My Lord?” She looked up at him, her expression pained. “I meant only to comfort you, My Lord.”

“Comfort me?” He challenged. “Do not think for one moment that I believe you actually care.”

“Oh, but I do.” She insisted. “I care deeply. I can only imagine what pain you must feel right now. Your suffering must be great.”

“I am sure, my Lady, that my suffering is your greatest pleasure.”

Emilia frowned, leaning her head against Killian’s arm. “Why would you say such a thing, my Lord. My greatest pleasure has always been your happiness.”

“If you expect me to believe that, then you must think me a fool.” He growled.

“No, but I do think that you mourn the loss of a foolish child who never loved you.”

“He loved me no more than I loved him.” Lord Killian scoffed. He pushed Emilia away from him then slowly stepped forward, leaning over the coffin as he sighed. “But, there is no doubt that his presence in my life would have enriched my existence.”

Lady Emilia pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes. “What could he have possibly provided you with that I can not?” She hissed.

Lord Killian traced a finger along Rowan’s cheek now cold and devoid of life. He turned and looked at Lady Emilia with an expression so tragic that for a brief moment she swore she saw actual tears in his eyes. “A soul, my Lady. A breath of humanity lost to our kind through centuries of cold, endless, decay. That spark of life that we seek each time we feed on the living. He had that. I have no idea how, but he had it and it shone brighter in him than in the brightest sun. Whether it was his youth, his kindness, his passion, or some other mysterious virtue which I could never hope to understand, whatever it was, I craved it. Craved it to the point of obsession.”

Killian allowed his fingers to trail along the edge of the coffin as he moved away from it’s side. He focused his eyes on Emilia, taking in her visage, stopping to stare into her eyes. His stare bore into her as though he were looking past her eyes and seeing what lay beneath them. “You are beautiful, my Lady, but it’s all glamour. Behind the fair skin, raven hair, and icy blue eyes is a black void lacking in anything pure or good. With him, it wasn’t so. His beauty transcended the flesh as he breathed life into everything around him. But you, Lady Emilia, are rotten from the inside. A festering husk of filth and putridness. You will never compare to him, my Lady. You would simply burn to ash in his light.”

Killian brushed past her leaving the cathedral as well as the others behind. He couldn’t stay a moment longer, not even to watch the internment. There was something, something painful that ripped through the still heart in his chest. It felt like a vise squeezing and twisting his insides till he felt he might collapse and die from the agony he felt. He wasn’t vain enough to believe that he actually loved Rowan but the regret that he felt was just as strong. Regret, grief, rage...whatever it was he was feeling, it was ripping him apart inside.

He quickly fled into an empty chamber within the church and when he was sure that he was alone, he fell to his knees and wailed, slamming his fists into the floor over and over again until his hands were bloodied and raw. “Damn you!” He cried out, suddenly falling to the floor, hugging himself as he curled up on his side. “Damn you all to hell!”

***

Folen stood at the side of the coffin looking down, the soft glow of candlelight cast flickering shadows on Rowan’s face, giving an ethereal quality to his stillness. As the priest opened the cathedral to the nobles inhabiting the kingdom, small groups mourners approached, one by one, their steps heavy with grief. Some carried fragrant bouquets of roses, their vibrant colors contrasting with the solemn atmosphere. The room was permeated with the scent of flowers and the unmistakable aroma of sorrow.

Each man and woman giving their deepest condolences to the hardened King, their hearts heavy with the weight of the loss of a Prince they barely knew. The loss of life was never an easy thing to bear but the death of one so young was even more tragic. Folen was closest to him but she shed no tears as she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Sleep, little one.” She whispered, a hint of a smile on her pale lips. “Dream sweet dreams and sleep. When next you wake, this will all have been but a distant memory and your life will begin anew.”

Outside, rain began to fall, its gentle patter against the windows seeming to echo the collective sorrow within the room. As the mourners paid their respects, Rowan’s presence remained palpable, reminding them of the fragility and preciousness of life. The mourners took the opportunity to say their final farewells to Rowan, their tears mingling with the rain and they whispered silent prayers to Sheul, the vampire God, that Rowan find his place in the moonlit gardens of Sheowan and earn his eternal rest.

The mourners stepped back, making way as the lid to the coffin was put in place and nailed down before being lifted up and carried to the royal tomb where Rowan would join his ancestors. Folen stood by, watching as the door to the tomb was closed and sealed, the gate enclosing it locked. King Desmond turned and left as soon as he heard the metal clang of the gate slide into place. His part done. He had laid to rest his second son though Rowan did not get the same farewell that his older brother had. King Desmond felt no love, no remorse, and no grief over Rowan’s death.

He felt nothing. To him, it was as if the boy had simply never existed at all.