“I’m afraid of him, Kevaan, and you should be too. His power is stronger than I could ever hope to vanquish. I’m sorry, Kevaan, I have no choice this time. I know you love her like no other and will do anything to protect her, but the future of this kingdom, your kingdom, lies on whether she marries or not. Sometimes we have to sacrifice in order to survive. We have a kingdom to protect.”
“She was not given to you to make her the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. She’s your daughter, your blood. Mother would not have approved of this, and you know it.”
“If your mother were still here, I wouldn’t have had to do this at all.” King Randor hung his head sadly and shook it. “I will not have an old maid for a daughter. I’m sorry, Kevaan, but she no longer gives me any option but this. You have done your duty for the crown; it’s her turn now. I would have rather chosen someone else other than Fallon for her, but no one else has asked, and I’ve run out of time. She will marry him. He will return in three days to go through the proper traditions. Do you want to be here when I tell her?”
He thought about that for a moment, pictured the scene in his head and his heart started to ache. He could do nothing to stop her heart from breaking, but maybe he could be there for her after, to put it back together.
“No, I don’t, father.”
“Very well then. Please go down and send her to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Melenthia sat on a stone bench wiping her face with a towel, her sword lying on the bench beside her. She heard someone approaching and moved the cloth away from her eyes so she could see. Her brother walked toward her, looking not in the least bit pleased. He was tall, almost six-one, and had wide shoulders and large arms. His brown hair was short but thick, and a neatly trimmed mustache matched his hair color. His brown eyes were sharp but held a boyish sparkle at times when he was trying to joke with her. She could never look into those chocolate brown eyes and not smile. The eyes that watched over her all her life, the eyes that held a love for her she’d never seen in another man. At the moment, however, they held no sparkle, no jesting.
She stood up to greet him and smiled. “Did you see that last duel, Kevaan? I was better than ever.”
“Yes, I did. So did father.”
“Oh.” She changed the subject. “What’s wrong? Why so glum?”
He tried to hide his gloom by smiling at her and saying, “nothing”, but she was not easily convinced. She knew her brother.
“What is it?”
He gave up and said, “Father would like a word with you in his sitting room.”
“Why do you look so upset? What does he want to see me about? Is he still upset about me leaving the party?”
“No, but I cannot tell you because he wants to tell you.” He tried to make it sound less serious. “Why don’t you take a bath and change first.”
She eyed him for a moment. “Goodness, Kevaan, it sounds very serious.”
“Well, that’s because it is.”
“Please tell me. You can break bad news gentler than he can.”
“I can’t, Mel. It’s for father to tell you, not I.” He wanted to tell her. Wanted to try and break the news gently, tell her it would be okay. But he knew it was not his place. Besides, whatever wrath she would invoke on their father, he deserved.
She sidled up to him smiling largely, her brilliant emerald colored eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. She tried using her girlish charms to persuade him. “Please.”
He chuckled, for her playfulness always made him forget every pain. She wasn’t an ugly girl at all; on the contrary, she was a beautiful woman. Kevaan was ten years older than his sister, and when their mother died, he made sure she got all the best as she grew and often helped out whenever he could. He saw her bloom from an awkward tomboy, a lanky clumsy girl, to a vibrant feminine woman. All the attributes men find attractive were there. She was thin, but not boney, her features chiseled, but she lacked none of the womanly appeal. She had a small waist, perfectly proportioned hips, and a full bosom. Her long golden red, naturally curly hair was thick and shiny, and her skin was creamy and soft as a rose. Just like himself, she inherited her mother’s small nose, but unlike her father and brother’s eyes of brown, hers were emerald. Her color was different than anyone in the lineage, and it only added to her charm and intrigue. It wasn’t that men didn’t find her attractive when she was social and wore gowns; they practically tripped over themselves to be near her. It’s when she opened her mouth, showed them her personal side that men ran away. Even after growing up and learning how to be a lady, she never completely grew out of her tomboyish antics. She didn’t think a woman should be silent and always agreeable; she rode horses like the devil on the wind, still enjoyed swimming in the water hole down in the glen and fought with a sword better than a lot of men. She often dressed boyish too, like now, with baggy pants and shirt to hide her curves and knee high black riding boots. Her hair was pulled back and tied with a leather strap. Far away you may wonder about her gender dressed as she was, but up close, there was no mistake. He had asked her once why she dressed like that, and she said that whenever she dressed like a lady, mostly to try and make her father happy, men would come on to her, paw at her, and made statements of what they wanted from her. She grew weary of the innuendos and false personas.