Story & Art : Kumiko d'Primato
Editor: Kenji Sato
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New silk sheets, old draperies; I had decorated the bridal room myself. But I had this ominous feeling, which I couldn't quite pinpoint.
The cut blooms on my vanity had stood fresh in the morning, but when dusk crept in, the stalks were all limp, their crowns drooped over the rim. I hastily changed the water in the adjacent chamber; I stepped out and tripped over the carpet. I saved the vase, but scattered more petals on the floor. I picked them up before my groom arrived.
The wedding gown's lace scratched my neck; I had stitched it myself to fit my shoulders. My reflection in the mirror flashed a tired bride; I puffed my cheeks and smiled.
Everything would be fine.
After tonight, I, Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne, would be known as a married woman.
There was nothing grand about my room; I just spruced up the space with new bedding and flowers. Everything looked white and proper, covering secret walls and shortcuts, as my manor had hidden passages.
I'd taught Zanad to use those passages for safety.
People said that Zanad's kind, the Drakhenari, could steal someone's body, yet I knew he would never have to. Because more than a butler, he felt like family.
I straightened the wilting flowers; lined the vanity desk and its stool. A sofa and its side table were framed by the window.
Outside, the autumn wind clawed at the glass, scattering dead leaves across the yard. The sky turned pitch black without stars, so I closed the draperies.
Soon, I heard footsteps, but they were not of one person. My husband returned, and he was not alone.
The knight, who had been our guest, followed him in.
"Excuse me, sir, why are you here?" I panicked.
The knight's gaze lifted from the floor to me, undressing me from toe to head.
"Nothing," my husband said. "The lad won't do anything without your will. He's a gentleman, the best in our ranks. He never even courts a maiden."
I raged at the impropriety. "My will? Then please leave."
But the knight stood still.
Again, I asked my husband, "Kindly send your man outside, or better yet, back to the barracks."
"Dear wife, as I said, it's time to do your part."
"My part?" I widened my eyes at the knight. While he's here?
"Yes, I'd love to learn what couples do at night," my husband grinned. "Wouldn't it be your duty to show me? I couldn't possibly ask another maiden."
"What do you take me for?!" I couldn't control my tone as my face burned.
"We soldiers must always train before the grand duel, if you will. Consider this a practice match."
"A practice match?! I'm a married woman!"
He wasn't the war hero I had known. Just the duke!
"Your Grace." I said it to remind him of his place. I regulated my breathing and pointed to his knight. "Tell him to leave at once."
The duke only sipped his drink, then waved toward the bed. "Have you not taken any liking to him? Tristan's his name. He had been saving himself for the woman he loves. Please, acquaint yourselves."
"This is ridiculous!" I went for the door, my hand on the cold brass of the knob.
"Genevra, ask me how the royal inquiries treat a Drakhenari," the duke asked, leaning back.
I relented and listened. Is he threatening to hand Zanad over?
Then I remembered the purge; the Drakhenaris' homes were burned to the ground. And about my friend Mara.
I couldn't lose Zanad as I had lost Mara...
I faced the duke, who was supposed to be my husband, searching to see if there was any humanity left. There was none.
"Painful procedure," the duke said. "If you'd been there, you wouldn't forget their screams, either. The Drakhenari even cursed in our language. Hilarious! It was complete madness."
He chuckled like a madman. "So my dear, the morning will come, the sun will shine, and we all return to our place as one big family. Tristan will keep our secret, too."
The knight looked away. Yes, as he should be ashamed!
"I have never in my life met him." I confessed, then gazed at the knight.
He looked disappointed.
The duke said, "Genevra, I'm tired. The royal inquiries will also question you for keeping the Drakhenari."
"But it was you who—" I kept the rest of my words, as I was unsure of how much his knight knew about Zanad.
I laughed at my ridiculous white gown.
I would learn too late why a duke would choose a fallen baroness as his spouse—he had a certain weakness.
Could he not perform in bed like others? I almost blurted the word, but kept it to myself.
Our wedding was never about me or Zanad; it was about him. He and his twisted perversion. The duke had prepared the bait along with the cage, and I foolishly walked in.
He had a reason why he kept a Drakhenari hidden at my manor.
And here, the three of us—the knight, Zanad, and I—were his to command.
I was merely the extra piece to keep his knight interested...
I looked at the other man—tall and tan. He sat on the bed, waiting.
Should I ask him to mercifully draw his sword?
But Mother's voice rang in my memory. "As long as we live, we can try again."
Father always said, "A true Aurelienne never gives up."
I sneered. He never had to choose between his honor and someone's life.
Their voices dissipated as the duke clinked his glass on the side table. "The knight or the creature must leave. Choose."
My hands clenched the lace of my gown; I had no honor left to keep.
Yes. Zanad should not suffer because I hesitated...
Slowly, I walked to the knight. He gazed up to me, offered a hand, and I took it. He gripped me, firmly.
Past his shoulder, I saw Zanad's eyeball watching us through the keyhole.
Go now. Please hide yourself.
The knight laid me on my back, then hovering over, tried to kiss me, but I turned my gaze to the wall. His weight on me, his cologne, all of him pushed me back.
Back to a time. Time stretched to four years before.
Slow. Slow. Slow.
I was a girl again. My parents called me Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne.
I couldn't say I was proud of my last name, Aurelienne. It was the name of a land with a quaint village, which had once been ours, but then it was lost to my parents' debts.
Such a pity, because I loved the view as I opened the window of our summer villa. A vast golden field, with streaks of blue above it.
Lovely.
It was the harvest festivals; men and women would gather wheat and vegetables, while their children would gather what fell from their clutches.
"Good harvest this year too, sir!" the villager spoke, in a friendly manner, to my father.
Father was a kind landlord, too kind for his own good. He rolled his sleeves up, wore his boots, and joined the harvesting. He also forgave their debts for a jar of warm milk and oranges.
Mother would nag him all day, but they'd peck at each other's lips like a pair of birds when I looked away.
What a strange couple.
We racked up debt, thanks to Father's kindness and mismanagement; I knew this from Mother. He then borrowed from the bank, mortgaging the land as collateral for the loan.
"It's a fine debt," Mother said, one evening, drying her hands on her apron. Another dinner of potatoes and onions from our backyard.
I had believed we were already at our worst state.
But then came the civil war. It began as a rumor, but quickly became a purge. The so-called enemy was a rare race called the Drakhenari.
They had pointy ears, long dark hair, were tall and lanky. They lived as nomads scattered across the land in tents. People said they could steal a man's face and body, along with his memories. The king branded them as treacherous, claiming their magical ability could threaten the crown.
Rumors fueled fear, and fear poisoned people's minds. But before the purge, those Drakhenari lived among us in peace.
Why would they steal other people's faces? I thought, they didn't look bad themselves, as they retained their youth longer than humans.
I remembered playing with a Drakhenari girl, Mara. After she helped with the harvest, I noticed she wasn't very interested in our games.
"Straw dolls are fine, but they are for children," Mara spoke, with her round eyes and chubby cheeks, a bit shorter than me.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"I'm twenty-five years old."
"Oh."
When the purge happened, she disappeared; I had hoped that she made it to safety somehow. But the next day, a knight came to the village with her head in a sack. I cried for a week, traumatized, even if I had not seen her face. The knight's superior had been furious, as they needed her alive.
Then the next day, the kingdom proclaimed that people would get rewarded if they handed over the Drakhenari alive—which was deemed impossible. As a proud race, they would rather welcome the blade than be held as captives.
Why do the royals want them? Aren't they dangerous?
Mara's family, who had lived among us for generations, also disappeared. Their tent was burned to the ground.
The villagers said, "They had fled before being taken by the knights."
They had been hunted. Gone. All of them, even their young.
The duke had led the purge, and many young men from the village joined the ranks. But those men never came back. Some returned in coffins. The villagers cried to my father that they'd never be able to pay their debts, since no more of their sons could care for the land. Naturally, my father forgave them, and we had no income to pay our debt.
We lost the fertile lands and the quaint village.
But Mother's smile didn't waver. "We'll work hard, dear. Your father and I will get it all back. The land will be ours again."
Father, ever the romantic, would embrace her shoulder and say, "That's my girl! We'll start over. A true Aurelienne never gives up."
"And be thankful for our life, Genevra," Mother said, looking at me.
I was sixteen then, so I agreed without argument. I believed them. I believed that no matter what, we could simply try again as long as we lived, unlike Mara, or the Drakhenaris, or young men who fought and perished.
Our land was littered with checkpoints. Though we were visibly not Drakhenari, the patrolling knights checked our papers and listened to our speech, because the cursed race had the power to take someone's face and body.
I once watched a knight strike a man for not showing his papers quickly enough. The man squirmed in pain, but no one dared to help him; people were too afraid of being mistaken for a Drakhenari.
No one dared go to the market. I remembered the villagers sending produce to my manor. The three of us stayed at home, relying on the villagers' generosity.
Seasons passed, and the king declared that the war had been won. The capital and its people rejoiced, cheering on the knights. Finally, the checkpoint nightmares and such were over.
The duke, who had led the purge, passed the market street. He rode his mount, his cape swayed, followed by a legion of knights. Maidens shouted their names and showered them with flowers. It was a memorable parade as the famous sweet shop gave away candies for free; I had secured a handful myself.
Everyone then pretended that the Drakhenari and their cursed magic had never existed. "The war is over; now our lives will return to normal."
Normal? I had lost Mara.
But they all agreed to the sentiment.
I went home, eager to share the free sweets and story with Mother—I entered the drawing room, and there he was.
The duke sat in his full armor.
I sat between my parents and even offered him the sweets I had.
He proposed marriage to me.
Egregious!
After Mara's death, I had grown to avoid anyone in a military uniform.
Father and Mother were reluctant, at first; they argued among themselves in the kitchen, pretending to prepare dinner.
"Why would a duke want a baroness full of debt?"
"Genevra's beauty, what else?"
"She's only sixteen."
"Then tell him to wait until she's of age."
We returned to the drawing room, and the duke agreed.
That was too easy, I thought. Marrying him couldn't be bad. Just like Mother and Father, we'd get along, surely.
Then duke told us to wait for his return.
I asked, "Why? What's it all about?" out of curiosity.
"It's a surprise," he said, smiling, then turned his stallion around and galloped away.
He returned in a few days, and to our surprise, he gave us a Drakhenari as an advance dowry.
Zanad.
"Rhaen. Kel drash'ti," the Drakhenari boy said, glaring at us.
Mother placed her tray of refreshment on the edge of the table, far from him. None of us spoke his language.
Zanad was the last of his kind, dressed neatly in page's clothing. He sat with the four of us in the drawing room.
"Better than selling him on the slave market for cheap," said the duke. "I'll let him serve you, instead. He is your secret now, for many covet his magic."
"Yes, Your Grace," Father answered firmly.
My parents happily accepted the duke's offer, as the prestigious match was enough to blind them.
But the truth was—Zanad had been smuggled from the battlefield.
The duke excused himself, and we bid our goodbyes. He promised to visit us twice a month.
"What do you think, dear?" Mother asked Father.
"Hm, perhaps he's after the throne? But that's none of our business," Father murmured to the two of us, away from Zanad.
I looked at his boyish look; he seemed harmless. Would he take his revenge on us?
"Hello, Zanad. I'm Genevra."
He didn't reply.
"How old are you?"
Zanad dipped his finger in the tea and scribbled on the table: 20
His face held a certain innocence, almost impossible for a man who had survived a purge. He was too calm.
But I had seen the mark on his palm glow, a sign of the cursed magic everyone feared.
"Does it hurt you?"
"Vahr keth Solmir-tar. Nozh ven." He only replied in his own incomprehensible tongue.
I gestured at him to follow me, passed him a piece of chalk, and taught him to write on the floor.
He refused at first, but our lesson time soon became another world for us. I would talk to him, sighing about our debts or the duke's odd nature. I supposed he couldn't understand me anyway. He'd just listened, raised his brow, and left to do his chores.
Zanad learned about our manor quickly.
Mother said his safety should come first if a stranger came. He understood all the shortcuts and secret walls; I taught him how to hide himself.
In a way, I felt indebted to Zanad for the guilt I had for Mara. Mara. My poor Drakhenari friend. This time I wouldn't fail; I would protect the one friend I have—
I gasped—as the knight's touch on my thighs brought me back to my wedding night; his calloused finger was too much.
I concentrated harder on my past event as my breaths hitched.
Mara. Zanad.
Zanad wasn't Mara, but I had found his bashfulness eased my longing for Mara, and our days went by quietly. I had seen him watching me through the keyhole.
"Zanad, come. What should we read today?"
I assumed it was out of his curiosity. Perhaps he wanted to learn how humans function in our mundane life—
Ah.
The knight leaned in to kiss me, and I clamped my legs together, trapping his head between my thighs.
"No."
"Forgive me. Let's make this easier. I don't want you to be hurt." He continued to bend down.
Before I could protest, his gaze was disappearing below my waist.
"Stay still," he said.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, as he parted my thighs and concentrated on Zanad.
Zanad, is he watching me like he used to? Through the keyhole? How embarrassing! The humiliation burned me. Zanad, don't look. Not now...
Would our life be able to go back like it was once before?
We had lived in peace for four years; my parents, Zanad, and I...
...until their deaths changed everything.
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