Samara Mistress of Dark Mist stood at the topmost tower of her keep and watched the knight approach. For but a second she entertained the thought of instructing the gate keeper to shut the portoculis closed, but she had given her word and her word was a sacred thing. She drew her cloak close and descended with something akin to fear in her great heart. As the knight and his riders bowed before her, Samara felt the weft of fate changing. She lifted her grey gaze and found him pleasing. He was life wrought and truth soothed! Samara was an old soul and she didnot see a space to change neither weft nor way of him, she merely observed him. She bid him welcome to the kingdom and at the welcome feast she sat at her customary place aceeding him the seat to her left: the seat reserved for her lord.

She listened and spoke, she laughed often and gloried in his answering smile. As she rose, he handed her his sword, Samara felt something stir inside her. She who had handfasted marriages for so many of her friends, was she fated to have her own story. Samara offered him, the hospitality of the great castle, and bade him welcome in all quaters but the topmost tower. If the Knight felt her words strange he showed neither sign now sigil of it. He merely took his leave and left Samara to hopeful dreams under a spangled sky. The next days passed in a slow waltz of knowing, of showing and revealing as Samara and the knight danced around the idea of themselves as one. Every soul in the great keep thrilled to see their mistress smile and hear her laugh. Then one morning the Knight said to Samara: ' perhaps a lighter cloak would be more becoming?'

And Samara wanting to draw his smile abandoned the dark cloak of custom for the colours of spring. Then a few more days and the Knight said to Samara: perhaps the great sword is not a weapon for a lady to wear? And Samara wanting to keep his eye left her ceremonial blade in the tower. Soon his requests became daily, and whilst Samara would give him the stars out the night skies should he desire them, She soon wondered if there was aught in her face, character or spirit that the Knight loved. For he was ever after her faults, tallying and prescribing them, until one day he asked: Samara I would see the top most room of the highest tower.

Samara looked upon the knight she was slowly coming to love and she turned the lock on the door. Inside the room under delicate glass and wrought in delicate silks was the magical heart of Darkmist, knotted and wrapped in the mysteries of time, Samara's heart for without it, she and her land would wither and die. She lifted the cover and for the first time, she gave her beating exquisite aching heart into the care of the Knight. The Knight gazed at it for but a second, then his eyes fell upon the other treasure piled about the tower, and the Knight asked: Samara you speak of love yet you would not share this treasure with me?' So saying he put down the heart and hefted the jewels strewn about the room. Samara glanced at him, and she noted the fine fine cracks forming on the heart of Darkmist. Here he was her Knight, the one she chose. Samara called for her men and asked them to fill saddle bags with gold and make ready for the Knight to go.

Samara turned to him and she said: 'I let you walk in the halls of my fathers and share in the warmth of my mothers blessings, I nurtured dreams and hopes for your greatness above mine own. I who shunned the company of men, would have given you the comfort of my skin and the legacy of a son. I would offer my soul in your place and tonight I give you my heart, yet you do not see! You seek to unmake me and not to delight in what I am.'

So saying her tears icy on her cheeks, Samara turned from him and from the very tower where she had watched him come with hope dancing in her heart, she watched him leave.                       

The Knight sought for years after to return to Darkmist, to seek Samara's counsel yet try as he may, he could never find his way back. One cold night at the edge of a dark wood, where he was sure Darkmist had once stood, he saw a small woman tending a fire. He hailed her and she bid him welcome. As they shared a meal in the misty cold, talk turned to Darkmist.

 And the sad eyed woman looked to place where the Knight was sure Darkmist stood: 'it is a dark tale, my lord They say some careless boy broke the Lady's heart into a million pieces and she could no longer live in the mortal realm.'

 The Knight knew the careless boy! 'Can she never return?'.     

'Without her heart, she is but a shadow thing, she will never come again'.                                    

The Knight felt tears on his cheeks as the old woman looked to the night sky.                

 'They say her voice is heard of the night of waning moons, they say she sings of pain and hurt'.                                                

 The Knight closed his eyes and waited for the sound of Samara's voice but alas she never sang to him.

Falling

'Heaven's gates won't open up for me

With these broken wings I'm fallin'

And all I see is you

These city walls ain't got no love for me I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story And oh I scream for you Come please I'm callin'

And all I need from you

Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'.   

               

Barantheon spread her arms out and glanced at the toy small city below her, even here the sounds reaching her ears of noise, of things lost, of things found, of the million things that would not mourn her going. She knew her wings would not carry her, she was not all she had been, yet as she contemplated the tall walls of the city that had become her prison cell.

She stared her destiny in its face and smiled. She was a singular beast and the fates would not destroy her, she would die as she had lived: free and wild. Her thoughts turn to home but she knew the gates of heaven would not open to one as damaged as her, one who had made peace with her darkness. She thought of him, his emerald gaze, her one mistake her mortal sin, the only thing she would travel through time for: one chance to soothe his bronze skin, to feel truly alive and whole in his arms, to taste immortality as she loved him but such was the stuff of dreams and she did not have time for dreams. Her shattered heart did not grant her the luxury.

When He had turned from her, something had died inside her soul. She became this thing with no right to exsist. Barantheon freed her hair and watched it whip in the wind. She looked the hole inside her marked with the word alone and she smiled at last the pain would end.

She breathed deep and leapt into oblivion and peace. As she fell she closed her eyes envisioning him, her light prince, the only one who had dared love her. Through a thousand wars a million times she had rose, but his betrayal had killed her, they may call it suicide but it was murder.

Amatheon felt the brush of something cold against his soul, and he ran faster still, he prayed he found her, her his lady whole. He berated himself a thousand times for his fear! He could still feel her as he pushed through the crowded streets he wondered what the masses had gathered to crow about, then all of a sudden she was gone. His connection to her servered as he pushed his way through the crowd his blood ran cold for there in the centre of the rabble her turquoise cloak spread out around her, lay Barantheon quite still her lifes blood pulsing out her veins as she died.

He sank to his knees, after his betrayal, after all the pain he had given her, she had struck the death blow and gone from him. He would never hear her voice again, never glory in her fine skin, never see the love that made him afeared at first light her brown eyes. Amatheon drew his broadsword, and before the crowd could stop him, he sheathed it in his body. He looked at her as the skies grew grey and his body grow cold, he may have been a fool in his life, but in death he was wise.

He would follow his lady, through hell or into the heavens of the Summerlands. This time no fear would come between them. . .                

 That night else where in Illyria, a wise man watching the stars noted two new stars in the night sky, glowing sure and steady next to each other. . .he noted it on his charts and coming as he had from the tragic funeral of Illyria's crown prince and his warrior queen. . .he called them The Lovers. . . 

Who loves a warrior. . .

Let he who dares love a warrior know her scars and her victories

May he have courage to stand before her enemies and warmth to embrace her friends

 Let he who dares love a warrior know her darkness and her light

May he have faith enough to remain by her side and let her fly when she needs

Let he who dares love a warrior know her soul and her skin

 May he have fire enough to fuel her desire and warm her home

 Let he who dares love a warrior know her words and her silence

 May he have dark enough to indulge her sins and light enough to embrace her virtue

Let he who dares love a warrior know her honor and her loyalty

May he have hope enough when she seeks free and joy enough when she seeks he

 Let he who dares to love a warrior know her armour and her softness
Let he who dares to love a warrior celebrate his fate. . .
Let he who dares to love a warrior Let he who dares
Let he

moon

I would the moon would enfold itself in the tresses of night, that its liquid pearlescent glow would not coat my skin, that its pearly light did not transfuse my self to enchantment.
I would that the stars would snuff out one by one, that some one would fill the cracks in the sky so heavens light did not sneak out through the rents in heaven's fabric. Starlight would no longer incite me to wish wishes so filled with want that my very soul ached even I spoke them.
I would that poets had no inspiration, that words would cease to be, no rhythm no words that spoke the coil of feeling hiding beneath my sensible gaze. No words to inflame my senses, no enrapping spells of rapture.
I would that music would cease to be, no low intimate strains, grandiose waltzes leaving my arms aching to find shoulders they fit. No rhythms I felt with my hips and drums that moved my toes.
I would that He had made us in twos like matched throwing daggers, with even surer aim to finding our mate. That I was not always walking and fighting great wars, that a strong arm would hold mine, a warm embrace would take me home and this one would finally see
I would that I hadn't this want, that a merciful hand would reach inside me and swiftly suffocate this appetite which is now a hunger pang starvation
Murder my desire and blind my longing that I may finally find peace. .
I would that all was still.
I would that all was still.

The dark is the deepest when you go.
The lights trip and I am all alone.
Out sprawl my monsters.
Whispered taunts and they flaunt my sins
Naming each one.
They claw me open.
They draw my tears.

The dark is deepest when you go.
The lights trip and I must move on.
I know this place.
I know the corners.
I skim the heights.
Inch by inch.
I silence their screeches.
Its airless, its vacum.

The dark is deepest when you go.
And you've been gone too long.
I am slaying my demons.
I've traded on my dreams.
Jaded eyes see more than before.
My hands not searching for you any more.

The dark is deepest when you go.
and now I hope you never return.
Another beast awaits you here.
Never descend.
I am a darkling thing.
Of claw and scale.
A monster now.
And in my prowl.
Yours is the scent I hunt . . .
The dark is deepest where I lurk.
And beasts find a new queen

Once Upon Time

Once upon a time
I was a girl
You were a boy
Us with out we
Once upon a time
The girl gave the boy a lantern and took him on a journey into the maze of her making. In the wild abandon of her journey, through the doors of her making,the boy saw her soul. She was un afraid and unjaded. They were unfettered by care and in their high secret whispering there were no rules. His skin was her skin and his soul was her soul...
Once Upon a time
I was a woman
You were a man
You had one name
I had mine
Once upon a time
The girl who became the woman was jaded. Her belief flew from her and her heart was an icy place. The wild pleasure of nightime whispers and faded memories invade her dreams but her waking self shrugs them off. The boy who became the man walked his paths with other women. Traveling their paths until his footsteps grew faint in the dust...
Once Upon a Time
I was me
You were you
Once upon a time
The woman who was the girl met the man who was the boy...
She looked in his eyes and years flew from her. The man who was the boy watched what the woman had become and at once he wished to keep her..
Once Upon a Time
I was here
You were Gone
The woman reached for the hand of the man. In her grip only air.

Beastly

I throw my head back for the amber moon
Sprawling in to the shadows
Stalking starlight
Sheltered by the night
Undulating, sinuous scaly
Venom tongued
Poison kiss
Flowing in your veins
Clawing you open
Feasting on my find
I Lay lunar blanket
Sated but emboldened
Insatiable
After the first I know
Your scent in the herd
God crafted
With pure intent
Seven sin spun
I am
Once
Iam
Always
Original temptation
The low drumbeats
My heart sounds
Past the end
Of this wild place
Into the ordered peace
Your heart
Falling like the damned
Spiral into chaos
So far from
Being lost

Desire is Death

(Si puedes obtener cien victorias en cien batallas, eres un buen guerrero. Pero si eres capaz de derrotar a tu enemigo sin batallar, entonces eres un verdadero Maestro.)

If you can win one hundred victories in one hundred battles, you are a good warrior. If you can defeat your enemy without fighting, then you are a true Master.

On the edge of the abyss, there is desire , taut as a drawn bow, muscles trembling in anticipation, desire is a prowling beast. Desire haunts you dreams, it is a nightmare smile as it rips into your soft parts. Desire is a crawling insinuating all killer. Desire cripples and coaxes, it is the song of sirens in the deep waters, making you crash your ship for a brief kiss of death. Desire is death. Desire is death. Desire is death.
Le Noir Destiny, drew the sword against the soft cloth, as she repeated the mantra that had been beaten into her as a child, desire is death. She remembered the stinging fury of the Master's lash, each punctuated by the lesson: Desire is death. Le Noir was a killer, she had been trained in all seven high martial arts, like her Matsahai blade, she had been honed by masters to become the perfect tool. She was the highest level assassin in all Seven Kingdoms. Le Noir was as a legend named the Lotus Death for her looks and her deadly nature, only those who could tell no tales knew she was real, to others she was as the dark of her name, easily banished by light. Le Noir was raised by the Guild of Knives, she did not know of love, she did not know of family, Le Noir knew of killing, of war and of quest. Le Noir was cold, desire is death, she wanted nothing, silk or sack, desire is death, she neither loved nor hated, desire is death. The Master had once shown the apprentices an ice dagger, with it he had slain a slave boy, in a few moments the dagger was gone, Le Noir remembered the boys body looked like it had simply chosen to rip open and bleed. A good assassin is like the ice dagger: cold, deadly and invisible. As Le Noir has progressed through training, all the other apprentices had left the lodge or been killed before they graduated to Master level. It was only then that Le Noir had learnt the true business of the Guild was not blades but death. Even as they placed the tattoos upon her skin, Le Noir had felt neither surprise, nor pain. It was as if, she was crafted for this, as if this was a secret she had known deep inside her always. Le Noir Destiny was a death bringer. And as all the bards sang, not even Death himself could save you, should she have taken your death price.
Le Noir slid the sword home in its scabbard with a soft snick, the blade sliding home. She then stood still as a pale shadow on the roof of the fine country mansion. Le Noir was petite, her skin like warm caramel, her long black hair, her only vanity flickering outward in the night air. She was dressed in assassin black, the ornate tattoos of her guild levels snaking on her arms and down her back to flow down her bare legs. Her wide silver arm torques, held death stars and blow darts. On her belt two short stabbing daggers, and on her back her blade. In the locket around her neck was the vial containing The Deadly Poison of Jeaod. As a Guild master, she could not die at the hands of others, a death of honor was in combat or by her sanctified poison. All her checks complete, Le Noir began to walk across the roof, her soft soled boots making no noise, as she reached the edge, Le Noir jumped seemingly into the night. Soundlessly she landed in the courtyard below. Tonight The Guild had sent Le Noir Destiny, to take the life of High Lord Amatheon. His brother, the spare, would have the kingdoms and the lands and had paid the hefty price smiling at the guild master. Le Noir advanced through the dark elaborate gardens, the sounds of the concubines music filling the air. Le Noir felt the familiar night breeze on her skin as she felt her breathing level, it was always this way, Le Noir felt at peace with the world as she made the kill. She saw the first of the guards at his station, Le Noir smiled to herself : as usual the guards were too distracted by the arrival of the concubines. Le noir vaulted the small wall, before the guard could open his mouth to shout warning, a death star was lodged in his throat, she easily spanned the space between the watchtowers, her dagger quickly silencing the guard there. Le Noir did all with nary as much as a footfall sounding, the night birds continued undisturbed, whilst in the spangled courtyard below the music played. From her vantage point Le Noir could observe the gathering of Royals in the King's court, the very man who paid High Lord Amatheon's death price sat breaking bread with him, smiling amiably. Le Noir wondered if any of the many men and women she had killed had even known that it was often those most close to them who ordered their death. They placed a high cost on loyalty, chivalry and love but Le Noir knew these noble sentiments were often as masks for the true faces of lust, avarice and undiluted evil that envy birthed. Lord Amatheon's brother had even pressed The Guild Master to insure Lord Amatheon would suffer a painful death, knowing the name of the one who ordered his death. For a moment Le Noir felt emotion roil in her belly, as she watched the court, the duplicitous nature of men. Le Noir, stilled her mind, Desire is Death. She must be cold and deliver her duty, it was not her place to judge, an arrow does not judge whether to fell its target, it followed the direction it was loosed in. Desire is death.

From her high vantage point Le Noir watched all the court, their mechanisms and machinations all aimed at pleasing the king who sat on the dias draped with silks. All the court games would soon not matter for the High Lord would be dead. As she watched, the musician's signaled to end the evening's revellery, Le Noir felt her muscles prepare for the strike, her mind cleared and here hearing sharpened, through the night air she heard snippets of conversation, a courtesan trying to tempt the High Lord to leave with her, merchants discussing trade, Fine ladies laughter and then finally the same high voice that had ordered her : 'make my brother suffer' rose in the evening air : ' Goddnight brother, may your sleep be long and undisturbed' . Finally Le Noir knew the High Lord was left alone. Le Noir drew her sword and leaped, the long fall into the courtyard below, sending the night wind rushing through her hair , as she landed she drew the long sword from it 's place on her back, it fit in to her hand like the hand of a lover, its pommel and cross guard smooth with use. Le Noir knew what would happen, when she appeared, some begged, other cried but all died. She knew Lord Amatheon was a Veteran of the Battle of Souls and he was reputed as a fearsome warrior, but Le Noir feared none, death walked in her wake and she advanced to the throne.

As she finally stepped into the light, Le Noir felt the full brush of moonlight on her skin , holding the sword at strike position in the air behind the left shoulder. Le Noir lifted her grey gaze to the throne. The High Lord was seated in his throne, his black eyes watching her. Le Noir stood straighter, and returned his gaze, he was a noble and all of the 7 Kingdoms knew what her tattoes meant and her legend walked before her yet High Lord Amatheon was watching her calmly from his throne. Finally High Lord Amatheon stepped up from his throne, as he advanced, Le Noir could feel her blood sing in her veins, she tightened her grip on her sword. The Lotus Death was moments away from befalling this place. High Lord Amatheon stepped into the light and Le Noir felt the air leave her lungs. Le Noir Destiny had killed many men, both elf and mortal but High Lord Amatheon was something she had never seen before. He was tall, tall as the considerable reach of her long sword. His hair was white, not with age but simply because that was it's colour, His skin was bronze and golden , he was dressed in armor, the considerable width of his shoulders enclosed in silver with his arms left bare, and on his back a Matsahai blade. Le Noir knew that holding such a blade, meant that he could wield it, the elven craftsmen who made these blades , crafted them for only swordsmen who passed rigorous tests. He had his own markings, on his arms the regimental markings and battle kills for all the wars he had waged and won to gain the lands he now owned. Lord Amatheon did not look ready to die, his face looked possessed by a ferocious fierce joy, Le Noir knew this look, this man was like her, he came alive in battle and Lord Amatheon Would not die for her, he meant to fight for his life. Le Noir knew he would kill her to live, he was hungry for life, his skin crackled with it and he was rode with blood lust as wild as her own. Le Noir felt something sizzle to life in side her, She no longer just wanted him to die, she wanted victory, she would try her blade against his, match their strengthens, for the first time, Le Noir Destiny felt life's hunger inside her, now with an opponent who would take her life, she wanted it, She desired her Life! Desire was Life!
Lord Amatheon contemplated the woman before him, her legend preceded her and truly death wore a face of exceeding beauty, yet he was not ready to make his brother a king.

'The Lotus death, I am no soft lord to die, I won my lands to war and I will end this legend, cutting throats does not a fighter make'

She advanced on High Lord Amatheon,. her lips curling in a smile,
'Draw your blade, Amatheon, words will not break my skin'

With a deadly snick his blade was free, a beat and the fighting began, Le Noir using her flexibility and speed to match his brute strength. They advanced and withdrew locked in a deadly waltz. Even as Lord Amatheon saw a gap and struck, Le Noir would evade him drawing him of his footing. Even as Le Noir would strike, so Amatheon would parry. They struck numerous small bows, Amatheon's upper arm was laid open and bled afresh each time he wielded his sword, but it did not slow his arm at all. Le Noir's shoulder was split open and her armor straps darkened with blood, yet she fought. They pushed each other to the limit, like a pair of matched blades, ones weakness was another's strength. They were relentless. Le Noir had never come upon one who matched her blow for blow, who mind seemed to create parries before she thrust her blade. She knew she should be scared, fearful as Amatheon could actually kill her, but she felt more alive than ever. As Le Noir pivoted and bracing herself against the wall propelled her body into the air, Amatheon was spellbound, her jet hair swirled like a whirlwind, the silk kimono top she wore lifted revealing her legs in motion, her teeth bared, her shoulders braced, The Lotus Death was like a battle God, Amatheon caught himself just in time to block a strike that would have surely scalped him as she dropped gracefully to her feet and thrust upwards. all thought vanished, The Lotus Death could kill him. In countless battles, Amatheon had never felt imminent threat to his life, even facing the dread demon army of the South. Now in this fight he felt his spirits rise, in ten years of sitting on his throne, he had felt no excitement, now he felt himself come alive. Still they fought on, none wanting to admit weakness, each fighting for their lives. They ran with sweat and blood, dusty from the courtyard floor but none would admit defeat. Amatheon threw off Le Noir and as she landed catlike she prepared to strike again, he hefted his sword but as if they were of one mind , Le Noir spoke:
' A passing swordsman, yet I would not wait till dawn to kill you, I challenge you to single combat!'

Amatheon arched his eyebrow:
'Unarmed single Combat?'

'Yes, armistice to disarm?'

Le Noir asked for the customary 15 minute of no attack, in which they both could disarm.

'Done!'
Amatheon drew his sword scabbard and set the sword therein. Never taking her eyes off him, Le Noir put her sword down. Amatheon only carried his short stabbing dagger besides his sword and once he removed this, he turned to watch The Lotus Death relinquish her weapons. From her shoulder armour she drew two sharp and deadly bronze sai knives. From braces the sides of her boots she drew a wickedly pointed stiletto and from the left and bristling brace of darts and a slender miniature cross bow. She undid her armour and her black padded kimono. The klinking at the fall of the silken armour told Amatheon that even more knives were hidden therein. Amatheon relinquished his armour and stood bare chested in his golden torques. Le Noir turned to him ready to fight.

'your wrist braces Lotus Death'

Faster than a viper, Le Noir reached into her braces flinging five death stars into the wall behind Amatheon, so close he could feel the air shift at their passing. The last of the five sheared his hair before burying itself in the wall, a long lock of his white hair hanging there.

'You missed'

Le Noir smilled:
' I do not miss, single combat was the challenge!'

That said Le Noir drew her arms through the air and attacked. They went through all of the 7 martial fighting styles from each kingdom. Each trying to best the other, now combining one style with the other, sometimes moving so fast a mortal eye would not be able to discern their movement, others slow as if struggling through syrup. Where Amatheon was raw strength and power, Le Noir was flexible, fast and skilled. The fight was interminably brutal, they bloodied their hands and their opponents faces. Still none would withdraw. The first light of morning was coming as the inky black of the night sky started to grow light, they were still locked into combat. Amatheon saw no way, no out and he could not be found in single combat like this. The Lotus Death was giving no quarter and no mercy, they would truly kill each other and even then she had the determination to walk with him as a righteous spirit after death. Amatheon watched her in fascination, truly she was his equal in all forms of combat, The Lotus Death was not only beautiful but she was more dangerous than any single mortal or god he had encountered in the 7 kingdoms. Amatheon had many women, as a High Lord, chiefs and small merchants would send their daughters to him, yet none was as fascinating to him as The Lotus Death. When he had heard her legend, he had been fascinated, now to fight her and find she was power unsurpassed, it was more temptation than a mortal man should bear. Even as he contemplated her, her hand struck his ribcage, taking full advantage of his distraction, Amatheon was sure that had cracked some ribs.

'You wane Amatheon'
Le Noir spat the words at him, wiping her bleeding lip on the back of her hand.
'It is time to die!'

Le Noir felt something she never felt before, she felt pity at having to kill Amatheon. He truly was a magnificent beast of a man and skilled indeed to match her in single combat. His brother was a betraying snake, yet Le Noir belonged to the Guild and Lord Amatheon's brother had paid fair gold for his life. As a Guild Master Le Noir had to take his life or die herself and after him she could not embrace death. He had made her desire life yet he must die, Le Noir Was for the first time in 35 years worried at killing.

Amatheon was confused and he felt his breath burn as the cracked ribs attempted to shift with his inhalation.
'Peace! Lotus Death Peace!'

Le Noir was stilled, she had not expected Amatheon to beg his life from her. Yet he had called for peace, Le Noir was taught by old masters and she would wait, she could honor the old ways, even though he did not call peace using her true name, he had proved his worth as a warrior. She bowed and withdrew to the side opposite where he was standing.

Amatheon watched the Lotus Death , he did not know whether assassins honored the old code when he called peace but she waited, which spoke training with old masters maybe even the same masters. He needed to think, he could not bring himself to kill her and he knew she would not withdraw with out killing him or she would pay her own life as a forfeit. He though on the guild, on the betrayer who had ordered his death, on his life, on the Lotus Death but only one solution was possible. He watched her, she was standing utterly motionless as the song of the first morning birds sounded, her hair dancing in the breeze her moonlight skin splattered with his blood and his own.

'I would speak Lotus Death, I would offer you..'

Before he could finish, he hand went up.
'No amount of gold you would offer me would buy your life'

Amatheon had known this already
'This is known to me Lotus Death, but since we as matched blades made by the same masters, you would consider.

Le Noir was disappointed, she expected Amatheon to go to his death in honor, his head held high.
'I can not consider, I am Guildbound'

She lowered her gaze to her boots, choosing and measuring her next words:
'You are a warrior, true, I have never faced my equal, had I not been guild bound, I would not take your life, but now it is a matter of honor and my honor Lord Amatheon is a thing of Legend. But for you I will Do this, I will take the life of the man who ordered your death, Your own Brother, I will not let him sit on the Jade throne. On this you have my word.'

Amatheon knew that for her to promise this to him, meant that their exchange had not gone without marking the Lotus Death. She would let him live if she could. Amatheon Looked straight in her silver gaze.

' I offer you the Jade Throne, it comes with gold enough to silence the guild and lands enough to make the union of my men and the guild the most feared force in all the 7 kingdoms'

This gave Le Noir pause, the Jade Throne would satisfy the guild but she did not see how he could ensure she had it.

'You can not have a guild assassin inherit, it can not be done'
Amatheon knew she was right , there was only one way, even if she didn't see it now.

' Lotus Death I offer you the Jade throne but I offer it to you as My Queen'

He watched her eyebrows take wing. Le Noir was shocked , he was offering her his hand. She had never contemplated marriage, or even lovers as all men were afeared of her and her legendary martial skill. Amatheon watched the emotions play across her face.

'It will solve all concerns , The Guild will see its master assassin on a throne with power and gold , they would expand their influence. My brother would die at your hand or mine. I would have my honor and you retain yours. You are a singular thing, I was fascinated with your legend, now I am fascinated by you, I would give you my strong arm and all my treasury.

Le Noir watched him, her years of experience tested the truth of his words. He meant every word of what he said. Le Noir contemplated life without the business of death, she could fight in the sun not hide like a coward in the dark. She could walk with honor in the light not reserve her business for night. Yet she had seen other queens, mere beautiful pawns decorating their husbands arms.

' consider your words carefully Amatheon, in a lust to keep your life, do not forget, I am not a ornament wife, I would be a true queen, your equal, I would ride into battle besides you, I am who I am, all the world would know you have the Lotus Death as a wife.'

Amatheon smiled,
'I would all the world know that a legend is my lady, you would have full powers as a co- regent. Who would dare oppose me, when the Lotus Death is with me'

Le Noir Destiny had been schooled in controlling her emotions, but now she could not resist a triumphant smile. She contemplated Amatheon, before her, she doubted that forever with him would be at all boring. He was a beautiful man, a brutal fighter and an equal, Le Noir knew he feared her, but she also feared him. This thing between them sparked with potential. She stepped toward Amatheon.

' I accept you proposal, but first'

Amatheon felt like the first rays of morning sun, like the vaults of heaven had opened to him. For the first time since he had won his throne, he could envision a future that was not long and tedious, He opened his mouth to speak, but all at once, the Lotus Death had run from the room.
The palace erupted into screams and the sound of trays falling, all of a sudden Le Noir appeared with his brother in front of her. From the door way she pushed him to his knees before Amatheon.

' I Le Noir Destiny Guild Master of the Knives, name him traitor, My lord Amatheon, as Queen, as your lady I claim his life as forfeit'

So saying Le Noir cleanly broke his neck. Amatheon watched her in wonder as she stepped over his body to stand before him. By this time half the keep was awake and stood around the courtyard, she they began to recognize who she was and the weight of what she had said, whispers rose. The Lotus Death ! the sound of her name echoed in the courtyard. Amatheon, took her hand drawing her to his side.

'Free people of Azazul , I give you my queen and true regent, The Lotus Death Guild Master of Knives , Le Noir Destiny'

Amatheon, drew Le Noir to his chest as he smiled at her. The courtyard erupted in cheers, the people recognized the power Amatheon had brought to them in Le Noir. Le Noir smiled at the people of keep, she would enjoy this alliance. As the people retreated Le Noir Let Amatheon guide her through the courtyard to the chamber beyond. The lush crimson and gold colors draping the chamber and the warm wood finishes, told Le Noir she stood in Amatheon's Chamber. Through the far window, she could see the emerald waters of the Azulian sea.

'All the land further than you see, is yours, Le Noir.'

Le Noir smiled at his use of her given name. The other Guildmasters had well placed spies, they probably already knew the moves she had made. They would be waiting only for her instructions now, the gold and lands she held would silence any and all objections, not to mention Amatheon's fury and his unrivalled army! Le Noir contemplated Amatheon, his ice white hair hung loose on his shoulders, Hi shoulders were wide and bare, his skin the color of polished copper, he had the muscles of a fighting man, she could see scars roped around him along with new marks dealt by her. His face was a study of angles and planes, some would hesitate to call him fair but he leaked life and vitality through his very pores. He was more alive than any person Le Noir had ever met and after her dealings with death Le Noir wanted to submerge herself in all that life. Amatheon stood still under her regard, he knew women desired him, but she was the Lotus Death. Le Noir crossed the space separating them with long slow strides, Amatheon watching her like tiger studying his mate unsure whether she came to kiss or kill him. Le Noir now stood close enough to Amatheon that she could smell the copper of her blood mixed in with her jasmine fragrance from her hair. Le noir placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye.

'You hold concubines Lord Amatheon'

Amatheon nodded in the affirmative, he was fast loosing his ability to reason with Le Noir this close to him. She took hands and placed them around her waist, as his fingers interlaced in the small of her back, Amatheon felt excitement curl in his belly. Le Noir braced herself on his shoulders and raised herself to whisper in his ear

'Get Rid of them, by dawn tomorrow or I will kill them all'

Amatheon arched his brow at her.
'I do not share, my Lord!'

Le Noir was mere hair breath away from him, He could feel the butterflies of her lashes fluttering against his check. Amatheon tightened his arms around her, lifting her feet of the ground so she could stare straight in his eyes.

'There is not danger of that, Le Noir, who can ever match the Queen Of Azazul, whose flames burn higher than any other, who can match you? I take you to wife, I will kill any who dare challenge my claim, I will be only man to touch your skin'

Le Noir felt a her blood rise to drum in her ears, as Amatheon spoke his last words his mouth was a kiss distance from her own, Le Noir could feel his whiskers on her cheeks.

'none before you my lord, and none after you'

Amatheon could not believe Le Noir's words, as he closed the distance between them and tasted her mouth, he felt something inside him slot into place, his bond with Le Noir snapped tight and perfect. Le Noir decided that desire may not be death, instead this desire may be immortality. As the dawn came and the Guild Of Knives contemplated a rich coffer and the people of Azazul prepared for a royal wedding, Amatheon and Le Noir were engaged in warfare of a far more ancient nature, one where surrender was victory. . .

vision

I looked up from the large book in front of me to find him in the window, caught in the wind with sun at his back, as if light suffuses his skin, surrounding him like a halo. I had never seen a person move with such grace, I watch as the muscles of his body shift and contract under the his skin. Each sinuous graceful motion is infused with such inherent strength, he could be nothing but man. The width of his shoulders flowing to the power of his arms, his long lean torso leaning against the wall. I watch him beneath my lids, the words in my book long forgotten. He tips his face back to the sun, his skin is colored like deep bracing morning coffee. It had a depth and sense of something metallic in it origins, like a master craftsman had labored hours soothing it, pouring soul into it, his skin sang of sunset promises and honeyed tastes. His skin was an invitation, an invitation to discovery, cinnamon and clove, a memory of long forgotten things, his skin carried with it a subtle hint of vanilla, rich teak Tahitian fulsome. A woman might loose her name lost in the valleys of his skin. the angles and planes of his face, were like the clean edges of a sword cleaving through the fog of my disbelief, his face the smooth clean wonder of a perfect mathematical equation, from the twin wings of his eyebrows to the lush feathering of lashes resting on impossibly high cheek bones. His face was a sum of perfection, his mouth the masterstroke. His mouth was lush and full, the obscene full curve of his lower lip tempered by the perfect cupid's bow of his upper lip. That mouth was temptation, it was the slow tentative motions of first kiss, the quick white hot intensity of hungry devouring, it was the clouds ripe with rain and the fruit heavy with a promise of sweet. His mouth was a dare , a challenge, an elaborate snare of seduction and I was stepping dangerously close to the snapping shut. I stop the singular sound of appreciation from leaving my mouth, almost...At the almost in audible sound, his eyes snap open, like sugar left to caramel for too long, they are the color of pain de epices in places in others they are shadowed and dark. For a fluttering butterfly second, we are ensnared in a reflex tightening thrill of recognition, stretching between us until taunt and at once snapping. Leaving us bewildered in the sudden roar of reality.

The King Of Sorrow

Storm Sapphire stood at the edge of the dance floor, her eyes glimmering with crystal of uncried tears. She felt the rise of music, in her bones, a grandiose waltz, the rise and fall of the notes as couples swirled by heady in the magick of a midnight dance. She wished she could leave the floor and take the carriage home, to where she could rid herself of the worthless frippery and frills, wash her face, return the gems to the safe and retire to the peace of her bedroom. The only thing that kept her in this room was her Lady mother, who was at this moment enscouced with her cronies, sizing up the bachelors of the season. Storm knew she was not a diamond of the first water, yet to be unclaimed even for a single dance, she must have set some kind of ton record. She had begged her mother that at her advanced years, she quit the endless parties and resign herself to the country cottage and follow her dream of writing, yet her mama ever hopeful, still got the modiste and the Sapphire family diamonds, again despite the larger dower amount another season was drawing to a close. It wasn't that Storm did not seek to be married, she ached for the romance and giddy happiness her friends had discovered but somehow she was always glossed over in conversation and courting. She was tired, if she took the Sapphire carriage, before the mid-night buffet, it would be here well before her mother decided to leave and being the daughter of a Duke, Storm knew the staff would inform her mother of her departure. She crossed the floor and was in her carriage as the waltz reached its zenith. Hanson her fathers man, helped her to the closed buggy, and she could finally cry. Her tears finally free of the confines of the public ballroom, came fast and with shuddering sobs. Storm vowwed that this would not happen again, she wouldn't dress up in ridiculous lace dresses like a prized idiot when she knew the outcome. As the carriage drew closer to Dunchapel Manor, she privately burried all her fantasies of chubby baby cheeks and wise male shoulders, Storm told herself that she would never let herself feel this empty again. Suddenly the carriage lurched to a stop,' Hanson' Storm sat up at once alert, the manor was a 20 minute carriage ride from the ballroom, they should not be stopping yet. Storm poked at the little window, elegantly emblazoned with the Sapphire crest, ' Hanson!?' Storm was worried, highwaymen were not common in London city, she drew of the famed Sapphire diamonds and hid them under the carriage seat. She listened for any sounds of a scuffle, any gunshots, she prayed Hanson was all right, he had been her father's man since her childhood. She finally heard the sounds of footsteps followed by a strange high chittering, Storm turned her head toward the carriage door, she expected a pistol even a dagger. She did not expect him. He stood taller than the carriage as he stooped to look in at her. His hair was as a crows wing, shiny black perfection, his face was covered in skin so palely perfect that a million ton beauties would commit murder to have it. The puncuation of his dark brows rested above eyes of ice blue, so pale they were almost white fringed in black lashes long as her own. His face was planes of perfection and Storm was silenced by his silent regard. She reached over to her bare arm and pinched! It hurt and a small red spot bloomed on her arm. This was real, however beautiful he may be, he probably just murdered poor Hanson, and was about to do that or worst to her. She began to calculate her options, she would never outrun or over come him, her best option was to cooperate and appeal to his better nature. Storm put her gloved arms in the air and waited for him to speak. She was done with crying and determined not to die! He regarded her with his ice eyes and opened the door motioning her to dismount the carriage. She began to move forward as her ridiculous dress would allow. As she neared the steps, the silent highway man offered her his arm like a gentle man, should she wish to dismount. As Storm left the carriage, she began to look for Hanson, he was nowhere to be seen. Storm was scared now, if only she had seen Hanson unconcious at least, she assumed he was dead. Tears began to run down her face, she was battling hard not to run screaming into the night, Storm noted that the night was strangely dark, the gas lit London night, was gone completely dark and a strange mist swirled around her feet, hugging the ground. Storm looked to her silent captor: 'the Sapphire diamonds are in the carriage, you may take it and leave, I will tell no one of this night or your face' Storm looked at his impossibly beautiful face as his hair danced in the breeze, she would never forget his face but she would never speak of it. Storm waited expectantly keeping her eyes on the rest of the shadows, hoping he had no bloodthirsty mates. ' You think I come for riches, you are mistaken Lady Sapphire' Storm was shocked, he knew who she was, her heart began to beat faster and tears were rolling down her cheeks. ' You know who I am!' Her highwayman regarded her with warm amusment!? Amusement, Storm was confused. ' I know more than your name Storm Sophia Sapphire, I know that on your fifth birthday, you were sent a jet stone larger than your fist and your mama wouldnt let you keep it, I know that on your seventh birthday, you felt sure a raven spoke to you but no one would believe you, I know on your fifteenth birthday, you found your bedroom filled with thousands of purple roses and no one could explain whence they came, I know in your 21st year, a beautiful black mare was at your door with the little black pearl necklace you wear even now tied to her saddle and despite your being an expert rider your mama never let you ride this horse, Serena is what you called the horse is it, Lady Storm? Storm was shaking, those were details of her life she never told anyone, strange things had happened to her yes, but she had always assumed she had an eccentric great uncle some where, who her mama didnot like who had done all of the things to make her mama sometimes weep and sometimes look terrified. ' Who are you?' Storm looked at the man who stood in front of her, his shoulders covered in some sort silver metalic armour, from whence flowed a cloak, he looked like a Banbury player with the great broadsword he wore yet he emitted a deadly aura of danger, Storm could not understand how he knew all this about her. ' My name is Doyle of the Dark, I am the King of Sorrows and I come for you!' Storm almost laughed aloud, 'the King of Sorrows? There is only one king in the this england, do not presume a title will cow me, my father is a duke!' Storm may have been afraid and unsure but she would not be bamboozled by a charlaton! 'No he is not, your father Lady Storm is the high lord Ameron of the high Fae court, your mother made a deal with the fae Lady Storm, she wanted a beauteous son, and Lord Ameron most beautious of us all obliged, in return for her perfect glorious boy, your mother promised us, that her second child by Lord Ameron, would return to Faerie. You were meant to return at your 21st year on Serena as your mother well knew, yet she tried to keep you from us, so now I am sent to look to you and return you to the fae courts.' Storm felt herself grow breatheless, this could not be, her tall blonde father, who called her princess and visited her every night to say goodnight was not her father and her mother knew. ' I know my father, he is the Duke Sapphire and what is this talk of fae, I am no green girl, to be taken with talk of childhood fancies and Byronic poetry!' He looked at her sharply at this. ' Then tell me Lady Storm, have you never found strange things happen around you, like the plants around your manor blooming in winter snow, or animals who seem to trust and love you, what about how when you are sad, it seems to rain, how when you smile, the suns seems to awaken, have you never seen things through the corner of your eye and wondered what they were?' Even as he said them, she knew his words were true, her tears instantly brought rain, her father need not keep a greenhouse for he had her all she need do what touch a tree and talk to it a little and it would bloom and flower as never before. Her mother had called her a greenfingers, Storm often saw things she could not explain, she would turn but never see them full on, her mother had dismissed her waking visions as a lively fancy. Storm looked up at this man who claimed to be the King of Sorrows, and finally gave in to tears she felt her self sway and as she knew she would his arms reached out to steady her. Everything she ever knew seemed a million miles away from her, she was not a Dukes daughter, not a Sapphire and her mother knew. Storm felt Doyle's heartbeat, as he drew her closer to him, she stood still as she found herself now firmly in his embrace. ' It is not so bad, Lady Storm, you are a princess among our people and your mama was only trying to protect you as she saw best' How did he know that was what had struck at the heart of her, his words seemed to answer her questions before she asked them. She drew up her head and looked at him, in his icy eyes, ' It was my fae father then that sent me those things?' At this Doyle seemed to draw back from her, his hand slid of her waist to his sides and Storm felt suddenly cold. 'It was not Lord Ameron my lady, it was I that sent you those things' Doyle was not meeting her eyes as he had since the beginning of the night. Storm looked at his face, where his magnificent eyes looked stubbornly at the ground. ' You, but why? ' He hesitated for a moment, ' I sent them because you are mine, your father promised you to me and I have watched and waited even when you cried frustrated that no one chose you, wanting to tell you that I chose you' His words seemed to linger in the night air and permeate her skin. 'You chose me? Storm wondered at the beauty of the King of Sorrow, and now he was looking at her, in his eyes Storm saw the gaping hole she was sure the world saw in hers. His hands, which she was sure had held sword trembled as he drew it up to run a finger down her cheek, and in that moment Storm felt her heart bend a little, she turned the curve of her face into his hand, and managed to smile at him. Storm was surprised when in response to her smile, he drew his hand away and turned from her his cloak billowing as he turned away. ' Lady Storm I am the King of Sorrows, I am not a high fae lord, I am king of the darkling throng, and all things return to my court to face the consequence of their actions before moving on. I do not have light and I do no have a court of brightness and revelry as does your father, Lord Ameron gave you to me to keep my sword and my people in alliance to him, but I would not bind one as yourself to me, Lady Storm I free you, you know the truth of your provenance and I will honor my treaty with you father, go and live your life and be forgiving of your mother, she would protect you for she loves you. Later Storm would come to realise that it was in this exact moment that she fell in love with Doyle. He could have come swooping down upon her like a nightmare even as a mere mortal he could have taken her by force, given his fae warrior nature, he could have overpowered her and gone but he was letting her choose, he was giving her truth. She assumed he had magick but she knew instinctively he was not employing it against her. Storm walked around him, till she was facing him again, 'where is Hanson?' 'I put him to sleep, he is most protective of you Lady Storm. I shall wake him and he shall not remember me' Storm looked at Doyle, his eyes glowing, and his face like an angel carving. She knew this would be a defining moment of her life, she could go back to her old life, live the rest of her days as an old maid writing and keeping house for her mother or she could go with Doyle. 'Is laughter forbidden in your kingdom, is it like the Churchs vision of hell?' Doyles looked at her with hope so apparent in his eyes that Storm knew instantly, here was a man who knew the definition of alone. ' It is beautiful in its own way, I will not lie, the wicked are punished but the good enjoy paradise, laughter is not banned, I just haven't had cause to laugh much in the years travailed.' Then even softer ' I miss laughter'. Storm reached down and placed her hand into his, her small hand dwarfed in his massive grip. 'Then take laughter back' Storm smiled up at him, it was time for her grand adventure, her giddy happiness, her handsome stranger! Storm imagined Doyle in the ballrooms of London, the women would swoon he was that beautiful and what amazed her more was his choosing of her, he had watched her as a child, seen her become a woman and still gave her credit for being able to choose her own fate. Doyle still looked unsure, Storm reached up to touch his magnificent hair. ' I am choosing to go with you' Storm watched as wonder transfixed his features, he drew her up and swung her in the air, Storm caught her breathe as he soothed her hair back ' I have watched you and waited, hoping your fae nature kept the human suitors away, afraid of what I would do to the man smart enough to fall in love with you, Storm I know the lines of your body when you dance, your laugh, your tears, I have watched your kindnesses and seen your heart break all the while aching to tell you to take you' Storm could not shut her eyes as he descended to kiss her she was afraid she would open her eyes and find she had been dreaming! He held fast to her as if he were afraid she would vanish, as she watched he motioned to the shadows and from the mist appeared ten mounted men on winged horses, they were all magnificent but to Storm none more beautiful than him, one them deposited a softly snoring Hanson inside the carriage, Doyle smiled as he lifted her onto the mount and Storm felt her tummy lurch as a warm rush of blood suffused her face, as the horses took to the sky, Doyle turned to his man and gave instructions for word to be sent to her mother. ' Now my Lady, wonders await you' 'I have awaited wonder all my life, Doyle, oh and Doyle do I have to be the Queen of Sorrows? She felt his shoulders shake as London dissapeared beneath them, his laughter booming in the cool night air, ' You can be anything you choose, just be mine' Storm felt her self smile against his muscled back, her happy after had only just begun