The Epic of Antares

Ever since they walked out of sight Guinevere had grown anxious. It took all her energy to allow her brother to walk away with the Queen of the Nephilim so casually. The silence that followed was even more ominous. They had been gone for a little while now and try as she might her keen ears did not allow her to hear anything in the room they entered. She struggled to relax. Casspien and the rest of the king's council stressed just how important it was to protect Antares and keep him safe. She wrestled with that command as he was out of her sight. But surprisingly what managed to calm her was the equal look of concern on the face of Serghei Koshkavev whenever their eyes managed to meet. He stood against the opposite wall completely resigned to the matter at hand. But even so she could see the look of worry on his face.

It was the first time that Guinevere had ever seen such an expression from a man who only ever showed uncontrolled bloodlust. She found herself unsure of why it made her more relaxed. Perhaps Serghei's demeanor showed her just how absurd this meeting was. Or perhaps there was a danger he was waiting for and struggled to contain his emotions. Whatever the case, Guinevere found herself unsure of how to proceed. She looked at the table that sat in the middle separating them. On it were a multitude of wines and food. The small pull of hunger tapped her on the shoulder.

"If you wish to eat, go ahead." Serghei offered through a heavy Vanaheimr accent. "I am honor bound. I will not harm you."

"I do not need your assurances," responded Guinevere. "Besides, such pride to think you could harm me. Do you forget the last time we crossed paths?"

Serghei chuckled but there was no joy in his laugh. "A miscalculation on my part. That will not happen again." He examined his right hand, remembering the sensation of shattered bones as Guinevere's great hammer came crashing down on it.

"At least on that we can agree. I will not miss your head again." The young general glared at him.

Serghei moved forward and Guinevere readied herself, but the king consort pulled up a chair and sat on the table. He scratched his white beard and studied the different wine bottles that were laid out. Upon finding one that he deemed worthy he opened it and drank straight from the bottle. Guinevere studied the older Nephilim, his casualness foreign to her.

Serghei drank half the bottle in one swing, "I suspect there is far more we agree on than who is capable of killing who." He wiped the red liquid that dripped from the corner of his lips.
"Such as?" Guinevere dared entertain his train of thought.

He waved the bottle in the air, "This game we have found ourselves in." He took another swig of the wine, "Like myself I do not believe you wished to come here."

"If you were so against it, then why did you not stop her from this madness?" Guinevere asked, curious to hear his answer.

The Nephilim general looked at the wine bottle, an older memory caught itself in his eye. And for the briefest of moments Guinevere saw a smile form around his mouth. "Why? Is it not simple? For the same reason you are here today as well; I follow the will of my queen as you do of your king."

Silence once more filled the air and against her better judgement she moved towards the table and sat down. Even as close as they were, Serghei was still slightly taken aback by how much larger Guinevere was. She nearly doubled him in size and barely was able to fit on the chair. As she gazed down upon him with restrained fury, it was the first time in the five years since they first clashed blades did he realize just how young she was. Such a fearsome enemy greater than many that he himself had felled, both Stygian and Nephilim. A worthy foe he wished to tear apart before him.

"Whatever it is she is planning," Guinevere began. "I will kill her all the same." The assuredness in her voice even surprised her.

Serghei finished the last of the bottle and moved on to a new one. "You have had five years to attempt to do that. And what have you shown for it?"

"Thirty-five thousand Lunaelian soldiers dead and another five thousand Nephilim. And I recall the sensation of my hammer crushing the skull of Andrei Koshkavev." Guinevere stressed her words clear for him to hear.

Serghei recalled the unpleasant memory of finding the mangled remains of his brother. After a long day of fighting. He would have felt something had he not only ever looked at his younger brother as a failure of a warrior. Long had he hoped he would retire from conflict or be too gravely wounded to continue. But somehow such a disgrace continued to live and stain the great battlefields of his Imperatessa with his ineptitude. In fact when his body was brought to him, Serghei saw no use for it but to feed it to his dogs. For at least in death his younger brother could serve as sustenance for his war hounds.

"And through all that Hightower still stands, still remains in our control. There is no need to contemplate this meeting. Of course King Antares would come here. Your continued failures must be far too great for the king to ignore." The disinterest in his voice was palpable.

Guinevere rose to her feet, slamming her hands on the table. Renewed anger flowed through her veins. The words of her enemy did nothing but bring out of her a rage she had always tempered. She more than anyone was aware of her failures to take Hightower. But to be taunted by one of her enemies so casually made all the attempts her brother had done to soothe her nearly useless. The last task given to her by her father, and still she could not complete it. For her there was no great shame as a knight, something Serghei Koshkavev was aware of. He pushed the boundaries of her loyalty to her brother, and dared her to strike. Guinevere might have done so were it not for the strange sound that filled the silence off from the distance. She heard her brother and the Queen of the Nephilim serenading each other in joyous laughter as they spoke. Rage soon came to be replaced with confusion, and then disbelief with a lasting hint of jealousness. It had been a long time since Guinevere had heard Antares laugh like that, and even longer since she was not the cause of it. And now her greatest enemy was privy to a side of him she longed for. But all was not lost.

In that moment, she was not alone in experiencing the emotions she did. For not even Serghei could hide his jealousy at his own queen laughing so truthfully. Something he himself had only seen once before. In fact, he was more surprised that such a side of her still existed. Both generals found themselves humbled by the rare sounds they heard. Guinevere returned to her seat calmly. They both sat restrained, drinking in silence.

"By the Gods!" Enrieta exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"What else could we do? The painting was destroyed. We ran away!" Antares responded between laughs. "By the time Lady Alena found us, we spent all winter working in the stables. It is perhaps what led me to my love of horses."

"Oh my, what a story." Enrieta poured herself another glass, "This Nykolas seemed like a wonderful person."

"He was the greatest." Antares corrected, unable to hide the grin on his face. "My oldest and dearest friend."

"So why did you kill him?"

The subtleness of her words ripped through the air and reverberated across the entire room. Even the pool was not immune, ripples moved across the water pushing back against itself. It was a question that was not only asked by the Queen of the Nephilim but of all of Aurum who knew of the slaying. A tragedy that had led to the death of a Lord of War while the other was exiled. For many years had it been debated amongst so many as to the reason such sacred blood was spilled all those years ago. Enrieta was no different. She did not care for what happened within the realm of the Stygians but even she could not ignore the news when it reached her ears all those years ago. She could scarcely believe it at the time. A Lord of War killing another, something like that had not happened in centuries and yet here it did. At the time she had prepared herself and her people that another Stygian civil war was on the horizon, but just as the news arrived so was it dealt with swiftly and secretly. It was but only one of the many curious things she wished to ask the King of the Stygians.

She waited and watched for a reaction that never came. In fact his facial expression had remained the same. It impressed her how well he was able to suppress his emotions. All Stygians could do so, but with him it was different. It was as though she was unsure the face she gazed upon was real or otherwise. His cheerful expression did not falter, nor did it strain in any way. Had she not have known she was the one that asked the question, she may have believed he did not hear her. But Antares heard her. He heard her well.

He swirled the drink in his hand and stared into the red liquid. "Duty perhaps, at least that is what I tell myself." He turned to look at her, "But I think we have drunk enough that we are both ready to talk about Hightower."

There was a faint sense of regret within Enrieta as she listened to his response. One she quickly pushed away. "Hightower. What a blight on both our realms."
Antares raised his chalice, "Now that is something I could drink to."

Enrieta moved back across the pool to the opposite side. She reached over the edge to pull rolled papers from her attire on the floor. Antares did not look away this time, admiring the view.

"Well perhaps you would also be interested in drinking to this?" she turned over waving and placing the rolled stacks of paper in front of each other.

"And what are those?" Antares asked.

"These are a series of contracts, divesting all claims Iliad has to Hightower. Of course that is not all, there would also be a monetary fee that would be paid, over time."

Antares laughed, "You wish to buy Hightower?"

Enrieta nodded, "Quite right."

"It is not for sale." Antares shook his head, placing his drink back down. "Hightower has never been for sale. It is part of Stygian land."

"It is land that belongs to no one." Enrieta corrected. "The Valley of the Hunt is not yours."

"All lands of Aurum, especially sacred lands belong to us. The Valley of the Hunt is sacred land. Or have you forgotten the first holders of these realms?" Antares shot her an indifferent look.

Enrieta touched her chin, "I did not know the valley where you hunted and butchered my kin was deemed sacred land." Enrieta mockingly bowed, "I feel honored."

"Do you forget your ancestors drank the blood of the Abomination?" Antares asked.

"What choice did we have when you turned us away from Iliad eons ago?" she asked earnestly.

The birth of the Nephilim was a tale well known to Antares. One the Stygians often avoided in conversation for their uninterest in addressing that they may have inadvertently created their oldest living enemy. Whereas the Nephilim were more than willing to regale the story of how they were once human. Turned away from the gates of Iliad back into the unforgiving wilderness of Aurum. And found salvation with the Blood God. They chose to tell a more endearing version of the story. But Antares knew the truth and acknowledged it, even though his people would not. The ancestors of the Nephilim were the vilest of humans, murderers, thieves and rapists. They were cast out of human camps along with their families and forced to seek refuge elsewhere. His ancestors who already could scarcely tolerate the humans they had allowed into their realm, would never accept such appalling people, and so cast them back into the wild. It is there they found the Abomination that accepted them and thus the first Nephilim born. Antares did not castigate them for this. They were desperate, facing extinction and they did what they needed to do to survive. It reminded him of his people.

Antares rubbed his forehead, "Enrieta I do not want to argue history with you. The quarrels of our ancestors are theirs to deal with."

"I agree."

"So then make me understand what it is you want with Hightower," Antares asked.

Enrieta thought for a moment, sighed, and dropped her pleasant demeanor. "I do not want Hightower."

Antares raised an eyebrow.

"I do not care for it. Truthfully I have never cared for the city or the people who inhabit it. Or even her merchants who are so sought after. If the choice was my own I would have burned it to the ground and sealed the valley years ago."

Antares sipped his drink, "And whose choice is it?" he asked. Already knowing the answer.

"My father, the emperor."

Seldom did Antares hate. It was an emotion he regularly suppressed for it offered him little in the way of reason. Among the myriad of teachings he had learned from being a Lord of War and being Stygian. Of all the emotions, it was hatred that he was taught he should suppress the most. It was a blade without a hilt. And to wield it meant to draw one's own blood as well as the intended target of such a thing. But as many believed him to be Antares was not perfect. And of the small list of people he hated—which included his own foremother. Emperor Nero was near the top of it.

Antares had never met Emperor Nero, but his influence was so great that in many ways he had. A man who cast a large shadow across Aurum so long it even reached Iliad. A man who for a century gave his father the ill fated moniker of the Demon King. A title that had become synonymous with King Barranagan when he lived. A title that he found to spit on the name of a man who gave everything to save Iliad and by extension all of Aurum from the Mad Emperor Dioxeyes, father of Nero. But Barranagan never once spoke against his name and legacy being dragged through the gutters of Aurum by his dearest friend. Never once did the old king defend himself. Something that had always angered Antares. So many knew of the story of the three great heroes who saved Aurum a century ago, and yet so many chose to praise the Black Witch and the son of the mad emperor. But not the Stygian warrior who felled the great tyrant himself. Who brought the nine realms to their knees in submission.

"And what does Nero want with Hightower?" The dryness of his words echoed through the chamber.

Enrieta could feel the temperature drop, "My father seeks peace." She lied.

"Peace?" Antares could not help but laugh.

The Queen of the Nephilim nodded. "Yes, but that is not all. He seeks to right the wrongs of the past. Of all our pasts."

The Stygian King leaned forward and Enrieta took that as allowance to continue.

"Whether both our kin meant for it or not, at the end of the rebellion Hightower became a symbol of peace. A symbol of what Aurum could be, a land where all could coexist in harmony. And by all I mean Nephilim and Stygian."

The words she spoke were not lies. As much as he detested Hightower, not even Antares could deny that it was the only place in all of Aurum where Stygians and Nephilim did not seek to compete with each other or worse, kill each other. He knew of Stygian families who had lived there for centuries. Who had wed Nephilim and lived together. He himself had no problem with it, but could never bring himself to accept it. He did not know if the reason he could not fully accept it was because he was a Lord of War or if he was raised in the old ways. Perhaps both, or neither. Nevertheless what Enrieta spoke of was the truth. Hightower was the symbol of the harmony he sought. Of the Aurum he envisioned. And he knew one day he would have to address the old city. But he did not think it would be so soon.

Enrieta continued, "Your realm for the last five years has closed itself off. And I understand that not to be of your doing. But as the years passed, Hightower sought assistance from the southern realms and most importantly from Vanaheimr. And the penalty for us Nephilim has been conflict with your people."

Antares sighed. Even now his brother Daimion haunted him. He continued to struggle with how not only Daimion but his own father could not see the futility of engaging in conflict with Hightower. Given that they were the first to initiate such a skirmish. A skirmish that had now teetered on the brink of a full blown war. One Iliad could not afford to fund.

"So is that the reason why you had not killed Guinevere over all these years?" Antares asked, "As a show of good will?"

The question slightly caught Enrieta off guard who could not hide her smile. "Come now, give your sister credit. She is a capable general. I have lost plenty of men to her and her army. But I would not deny what you say."

Antares thought for a moment, and then ran his hand through his hair, "Let me hear your offer."

Enrieta downed the last of her wine, "We will pay five-hundred thousand gold coins for Hightower. The payments will be made in ten year intervals over the course of a century. At the end of that century, Hightower will personally pay Iliad twenty-five thousand gold coins for every year after. For as long as Hightower stands. What say you?"

She waited and watched for a reaction that never came. Were this offer made to anyone else they would be unable to hide their excitement. But the man across from her was not any man, something she had come to quickly admire. His cool and indifferent nature gave her no indication of what he was thinking. In fact she was unsure if he was even thinking at all. The silence between them seemed to grow into an ocean that she did not think she could cross. What she offered, what the emperor offered was to make Iliad one of the richest realms. A wealth that could only be rivaled by the Golden Company and Talterra herself. She knew if she were in his position she would find it difficult to do anything else but agree. Enrieta had heard rumors of the state of Iliad's affairs. Of how those before Antares took over had bled her dry so much so they borrowed from the Golden Company. She knew much of his troubles since assuming the throne would be spent trying to recoup the royal treasury. And dealing with the Company when they came to collect. If he truly detested Hightower as much as she believed he did. This was a way to wash his hands of the city forever, and still Enrieta wondered why he remained silent.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The queen chose to break the silence first, "If you still do not believe that this offer is made with the idea of peace in mind. There is one more thing the emperor has also offered. As a personal apology to you and your late father."

"And what would that be?" the King of the Stygians asked.

Enrieta smiled and unfurled the last of the documents. This one was of much higher quality than the others. She moved closer and rested next to him. "A marriage proposal."

"Queen Enrieta I am flattered, but I do not believe your King Consort would approve." Antares sipped his chalice, hiding the smile that crossed his face.

The queen grinned, "Not to me. A king such as yourself should have someone pure. Not one who has already borne children."

"What is it about me that makes you think I want someone pure?" Antares looked at her with an expression that Enrieta seldom ever saw in other people. Desire. She glimpsed at his lips. "But please continue."

"If not for purity," she began. "Then perhaps for the peace my father seeks. It is a marriage proposal to my youngest half-sister princess Reza Altieri."

The name meant nothing to Antares. He knew very little of Lunaelia and of house Altieri that had ruled the mystical lands for multiple millennia. Like the bathhouse they found themselves in, the outer appearance of the southern realms did not reveal the truths that happened within their borders. The Altieri's were no different to any of the other nine great houses . An old and ancient bloodline that had existed since the days of God King Gilgamesh and the first unification of Aurum. This was only the second time in such quick succession that Antares had heard of the name Reza Altieri. Although he did not know of her, he knew of her mother Black Witch Tereza. And of her relationship with his father as being one of the three great heroes of the old war. That alone gave Antares cause for concern, but more importantly Reza Altieri was a witch.

"No," he swirled the drink in his hand, as though hoping for a different flavor.

"Excuse me?" Enrieta unknowingly asked out loud.

Antares poured himself another drink and offered her the bottle. "My answer is no."

She took it, shocked at his response, "What do you mean no? Is this not a fair offer? What mor-"

The King of Iliad raised his hand, and his drinking partner halted her appeal.

"How many of your siblings are monarchs, Queen Enrieta?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

"Please humor me," he said. A twinkle in his eye.

"Including myself, there are two others."

"For the sake of argument, let us say I agreed." Antares began, "If I were to have children with your sister. That would mean including, Iliad, four of the nine realms would be ruled by a descendant of Nero." He raised four fingers.

"But that is not all," he continued. "Yes I understand my children would still be Stygian but would the other northern realms see it that way? And most importantly of all, Reza Altieri is a witch. That alone is dangerous, but for her to be the daughter of a Black Witch of all women. How do you think the other Stygians would react to such a thing? Nero talks of peace and offers me war?"

Enrieta shrugged, rolling her documents back together and made way to the other side. Antares was far more keen than she would have liked. Of all the realms within Aurum no one despised witches more than Iliad and her Stygians. Witches were bound by no restrictions. They were free to use magic without the constraints of birth or status. Their unpredictability in the mystic arts was a power that had been sought after since the first of them were discovered. A power most were aware was capable of toppling the Stygians. But a power many soon came to realize was seldom controllable.

So it brought no surprise to Enrieta to see Antares reaction. Although her opinion of him was ever changing, she thought it interesting for someone so focused on moving away from the old ways he would still hold on to such archaic beliefs. Even if he was right to hold those beliefs. Enrieta herself did not trust witches, just as the rest of Aurum did not. But that was irrelevant to why she came here today. Instead she chose a different approach. One involving aspects of the truth.

"My father is dying Antares." The set of words were foreign in her mouth. They tasted bitter, metallic almost, but there was an odd relief in acknowledging the truth. "Perhaps that can explain the madness of his offer."

Her back was turned to Antares. He lowered his eyes towards the pool, watching her reflection in the water. A vulnerability showed itself within him slightly. He knew she did not intend it but there was sadness in her words, a sadness he was all too familiar with. He did not say anything allowing her to speak.

"As the day draws closer and closer to his final breath. I think my father has begun to concern himself more about the legacy he leaves behind as opposed to the one he created. And it has come to his attention that in the century of peace that has ruled our world. He has done little to preserve that." Enrieta hoped the honesty in her words surprised Antares more than herself. She turned to him. "I think he believes it is too late for him to do anything meaningful. Hightower is one of his two final attempts to rectify that mistake."

"And the other?"

She gave him a hopeful smile, "This marriage to my little sister. He and by extension Tereza wish to rectify the manner in which your father and your people have been treated. Like how Hightower is a symbol of the future that both our people could have. Your marriage to Reza is meant to usher in a new age for Aurum. Where even a witch and a Stygian could find themselves not just in love. But ruling together."

Antares allowed her words to ruminate in his mind.

"To fall in love?" he said the words with a chuckle. He would not say it, but he did not think he was capable of loving another. Not after Faye, there could be no one after Faye. "That is what Nero wants. But what of you?"

"I seek what my father wants"

"Queen Enrieta, you have done well so far not to lie to me." King Antares' cool words carried weight. "Do not spoil such a wonderful time we have spent together. Do you forget what my eyes can see?" violet-golden orbs stared back at her menacingly.

The corner of Enrieta's lip curled up. "And what do your Akashic Eyes see?" her question barely above a whisper. Her anticipation grew with every step forward, "What is my true nature?"

From the first moment he laid eyes on her he knew what she was. What it was that drove her. The colors he saw within her toiled and raged together like a never ending storm. Deep reds and darker tones swirled with intensity that sought to spill out. Try as she might, as anyone would, she could suppress it. But not from his eyes. Even now as she moved towards him her nature shifted with every step she took, as though it was unable to accept the beautiful cage it was trapped inside of. He could almost taste the ceaseless ruby storm that threatened to consume her whole. The more he spoke to her the more he understood why her eyes looked so dead. Robbed of all life. In many ways she was a walking corpse, and that was because of her nature. It ate all life around her, anything reflected on to it was devoured. The more he spoke to her, the more he found himself wanting her.

"Rage," King Antares finally answered. She stopped in her approach. Standing there naked. "But perhaps more accurately a storm that has no care for who it harms. For as long as you are on its path friend or foe, all will be swept up in the red winds."

"And this does not terrify you?" a genuine look of concern on the face of the Nephilim Queen. "I do not terrify you?"

Antares studied her naked form, committing it to memory. There was no blemish, no imperfection. As the water dripped off her figure, her porcelain skin looked exquisite. Her long flowing snow white hair reached down to her waist. He looked upon her womanhood and the milky white hairs that covered it. Her breasts sat softly on her chest, they perked at the right angle. Enough to give it the shape and fullness so many women desired. She wanted him to see her completely. And yet despite all of that, Antares found himself coming back to her face and more so her eyes.
Enrieta crossed over and stood over him as he lay in the pool. Waiting for his response. Holding his gaze.

"The last time I felt fear Enrieta, I was five years old."

She lowered herself and sat on his lap. Towering over him, her chest slightly rubbing across his chin. And still his expression did not change. She wrestled between indifference and the slightest bit of jealousy.

She caressed the side of his face with the back of her hand carefully. As though his beauty would break with the simplest of pressure. "When your mother, Queen Myrra was butchered in front of you?" she asked softly.

As the words left her lips, the temperature fell low enough that she could feel it. His hand that rested on her back and caressed it now felt like ice to the touch. But his gaze was far colder. For the first time all day she poked and prodded to see what was below the surface that the King of the Stygians did so well to hide. And now at the mere mention of his deceased mother. That mask that he wore showed the first signs of cracking. It brought her comfort.

"Yes." Antares said flatly.

"Do you remember what she looked like?" she shook her head, "Not from the paintings. But what she really looked like. The smell of her clothes, the sound of her laugh. The look in her eyes when she looked at you?"

Antares smiled an agonizing smile. A smile that awoke something within Enrieta. A smile she committed to memory.

"I do not. Not anymore. Now when I close my eyes to remember her, all I see is blood. Oceans of it."

Enrieta studied his face, but she knew she would get no more. She herself did not know why she asked him such a question. A part of her regretted it. Not because of how it made him look, but because now she knew that Stygians could feel. Perhaps feel more than either Nephilim or humans could. And with that her mind would wander to other things about Stygians, but more so about Antares. She did not know it but she wished to talk to him further. In this place, as they were now, naked and alone. They were not monarchs, or great warriors. They were not Stygian or Nephilim. They spoke as people in great pain. And it was her turn to reveal what lay behind the mask she wore.

"What does my mother's death have to do with what you desire Enrieta?" Antares asked, seeming to have regained his composure.

He could see within Enrieta she battled something, more than just her nature, her Will. But he was interested. The boldness of her conflict with Guinevere, the boldness of her letter. And even her boldness to utter his mothers name so casually. He was enamored to see how else she would push the boundary.

"The last time I felt fear, I was ten years old." She recalled "To this day I cannot tell you what it is I wore on that day. Nor could I tell you what I ate or what the weather was like. Even when I dream of that day, my dreams always start the same."

"How do they start?" Antares asked.

"With my brother's screams."

Antares' brow furrowed slightly, "You have a brother?"

"Had," the Queen of the Nephilim corrected with a light tap on his lips. "As we have come to speak today. As different as we are Antares. I have come to see you and I are similar in many ways. Like you I too was not meant to inherit the crown. I was ten years old when my older brother Adelard Zxyphor was butchered, along with his wife and his two daughters."

It cannot be. The words repeated themselves over and over in his head. They threatened to drown out the rest of her words as she talked of that day. Of that accursed day. It had been twelve years since, and not once had he thought of him, of them. As he was taught not to. But as she spoke, he remembered how blue the sky was that day, the heat of the sun on his skin. The taste of the air. As she spoke, he remembered how he and three others traversed through the Old Forest hiding in between the shadows with a singular goal in mind. As she spoke, he remembered the weightless feeling of his spear in his hand. The sounds as the spear tore through the flesh of the horses that pulled a royal Nephilim carriage. As she spoke he remembered the screams of a man and a woman and the last sound dying children made. As she spoke, he remembered a blood soaked cloth covering a destroyed part of the carriage. As she spoke, he remembered raising the cloth to see a little Nephilim girl, no older than ten staring at him. Eyes so wide open he thought they would pop from her head. As she spoke, Antares remembered the first time he saw Enrieta.

"It must have been mere moments." Queen Enrieta continued, "But staring into the eyes of a monster, of a Lord of War. It felt as though it was an eternity. His blood soaked spear glistened in the light of the sun. I sat there staring into his violet-golden eyes."

Enrieta smiled a painful smile, a smile Antares knew all too well. "His white featureless mask was obscured in darkness by the sun behind him. His long hair sucked in the light. At that age admittedly I did not understand what the Gods were. But he made me understand, for he was mine. But then he did something unexpected. He slowly pulled the cloth back over, covering me in darkness. And there I waited, I waited to die. But it never came."

She looked into his eyes for any reaction. But she did not get it, instead the same expressionless face he always carried. She was glad.

"There was nothing you could have done." Antares finally said.

"I should have done something."

"There was nothing you could have done," he repeated.

"Anything."

Antares raised his hand, carefully he caught a single tear that ran down Enrieta's face. Hers only a mere inch away from his own. In one single tear he recognized such overwhelming malice. So much hatred and anger coalesced into a single teardrop. A sensation he had only ever felt from himself before.

"So it is vengeance you seek?" he asked her softly.

She laughed a genuine laugh, "For a long time, yes." The water dripping from her face, made constellations on his. "But then I had Mihai and not long ago I had my second, Daria."

Antares wondered which of her children looked like her.

"And I realized, amongst other things. What my brother always sought was peace. Even if the rest of my kin did not believe what I saw that day. Or my own father. In the end peace is what he was after. And I believe this marriage, even more than Hightower. Could bring about the version of Aurum my brother saw. Believed in."

Enrieta's lips were a hair's breadth away from Antares. He had not realized how close they were. He could smell the softly scented oils that still clung to her skin. And like that they hovered so closely together, the slightest of effort from either of them and their lips would lock. And as desperately as they both wished to do so. They did not. For yes, in this room they were not monarchs, or great warriors. But they were duty bound. This was a meeting of circumstance and nothing more. Neither of them wished to sully this meeting. There would be another time for that. A thought that both of them shared at the same time. They would meet again, they knew it from the first time they laid eyes on each other.

Enrieta rose up off him without saying a word. She walked back to the other side and exited the pool. She sat on the wooden bench and once again began to clean herself. Antares watched her as she did, unsure of what to make of her. She was unlike any monarch he had ever met before. Her boldness and brashness was unbefitting of someone of her standing. And yet he would not have wanted her to be any different. He thought of Adelard and his family and of that day. He remembered the words of Lady Alena, that to be king was to continuously look forward and never back. He thought he was capable of that. But uncertainty clouded his mind, muddied his thoughts. There was already so much from his past that he forced himself to look away from and here in front of him another one appeared. It seemed the world had only merely paused these last five years, waiting for him to return. There was still so much in store.

"I make no decisions right now." The King of the Stygians exited the pool with grapes in his hand. "But I will speak with my council. I will look to see what the best course of action is for Iliad."

He hoped this would suffice.

Queen Enrieta smiled, "I will accept that, King of Iliad. Reza's naming ceremony is only a fortnight away. It will be multiple days of celebration and peace. All of the other monarchs are attending. Give me your answer then." She put on the last of her garments.

King Antares nodded, "I look forward to it."

"Now perhaps hurry. We have been gone far longer than I thought, and I fear Guinevere and Serghei may kill each other soon enough." They both shared a laugh.

All of the wine was gone by the time Enrieta and Antares returned to the open area of the bathhouse. Guinevere and Serghei Koshkavev had returned to their opposite ends of the room scowling at each other when they both turned to see their monarchs approaching. Their expression relaxed considerably and the tense atmosphere of the room had cooled. Both rulers went to their respective generals and both generals looked over them making sure not a single blemish could be found on them. And when they were satisfied all four made their way outside. As they exited, so too did the owners of the bathhouse and a very large bag was handed to them by Serghei Koshkavev. And they both bowed deeply first to Queen Enrieta and second to King Antares. Further awkward farewells were made between the four of them and it was Antares and Guinevere who first decided to be on their way.

"King Antares?" Queen Enrieta called out to him. Serghei Koshkavev noted the softness in which she said his name.

"Yes?" he turned around to look at her.

"Forgive me, but I never asked what it was you seek."

Both Guinevere and Serghei Koshkavev exchanged confused looks and both turned to look at Antares.

The King of the Stygians chuckled to himself, "I desire the Nine Grimoires of Nyx, Queen of the Nephilim." The warmth in his smile was in pale contrast to the coldness of his eyes.

He did not shout, nor did he raise his voice. And all the same it echoed throughout the forest as though it was carried on the back of a ferocious storm. Guinevere was shocked, for her king to utter such words so casually. To the Queen of the Nephilim no less. But she quickly regained her composure. The same could not be said for Serghei Koshkavev who looked ready to tear the King of the Stygians to shreds. To speak so brazenly in front of him, in front of his queen. How many hundreds of thousands of Nephilim had died over the millennia in protection over the Grimoire that lay hidden within Vanaheimr. Countless corpses lay at the altar of those who sought the grimoires in their entirety. Had enough blood not been spilt? It was odd for Serghei Koshkavev to become the voice of reason and that angered him even more. But as he looked at the receding back of the King of the Stygians his clothes began to rip, his transformation beginning.

Yet it all stopped when he turned to look at his queen. Who he thought would have had the same utter disdain for the Stygian man. But to his surprise, Enrieta was not disgusted, instead the look of shock on her face slowly morphed into a large grin. She could not help but let out a laugh of her own. He was truly more than she could have ever hoped to imagine. King Antares Xerxes was like no man she had ever met before. All that they shared just moments ago, she thought she had seen all there was to see with him. But in that moment she realized she had only just scratched the surface. His boldness exceeded hers in ways she did not think it possible. Even as she looked at him, she was still unsure if he was truly Stygian. What hubris, what insolence as to claim his ambition to be the nine grimoires. It was a lofty desire only the Emperor of Aurum would have. And it was only at that moment that Enrieta Zxyphor understood her fathers obsession with Barranagan and those of his blood. It was there that she found the resolve needed to go through with their plan, and for it to succeed. It would require the death of King Antares Xerxes. The Queen of the Nephilim, Enrieta Zxyphor, would not come to know it. But that was the day she fell in love.

They stepped into the carriage and it began on its way. Antares glanced over at Guinevere to see that she hardly could sit still. He knew she had questions, she so desperately would want to know what they spoke about. He was fond of her current appearance. He would tell her what it is they spoke about but Antares was unsure of how much of it he wanted to share. There was still much for him to think about. And their journey home was still some time away. He gazed out the window and the day had moved along well enough. Evening would be approaching soon, but his mind was occupied by many things. But most of all, one thing in particular.

"Guinevere?" he called out, looking at the scenes before them.

"Yes brother?" she said almost jumping out of her seat excited to hear what it was he had to say.

"Will you allow me a moment of weakness?" the tenderness of his question took her back to a version of him she only remembered in dreams.

"Of course."

There was a long pause before anything was said.

"I miss my mother." He did not turn to look at her as he said those words.

Antares' little sister reached over and held his hand and would not let it go, "I know." Where all the words she could muster. She did not think it enough, but from the manner in which he squeezed her hand after she said them. She knew it was the only words that needed to be said. That he needed to hear.