Chapter 1
The Kingdom of Alma Series
[1] Snowred
[2] Whittaker
[3] Vulkin
Vulkin, Chapter 1
I was the laughing stock of Alma – I had two fathers and a mother. No one had three parents. My mother, Ellie, the Queen? I loved her dearly but she was a wreck of a woman. She was sweet but irreconcilably infertile after me, and I wasn’t a son so… no heir.
The Kingdom was in jeopardy.
My fathers? Infamous King Snow and the Red Warlock Whittaker want me to marry.
The only problem is my family is considered somewhat evil and the whole Kingdom feels suppressed by their unstable tyranny.
The taxes were high, for one thing.
For now, the rival Kingdom of Desentol, was coming to negotiate a bond.
But it wasn’t a Prince they were willing to give.
Only a High Lord that they claimed would rule in the Princes’ name.
The High Lord was meant to arrive tonight.
Meant to.
He didn’t.
We were still waiting while the plentiful feast grew cold before us in the throne room.
“Where the hell is this suitor?” my father by blood, Whittaker, stabs a cooked chicken breast with his fork a little too hard, and I hear bone break as he whispers curses at the empty seat opposite I, “We don’t even know his name, Ellie.”
I glance to my mother, who has been quiet since arranging this. Now she drinks some ale and clears her throat, “I tried my best,” Ellie lays down the goblet and holds my hand, petting it protectively.
I feel Snow’s silent glare across the table. My second father – the King of Alma with white hair, blue piercing eyes with a glean of red – he also had a temper for stupidity.
Snow glances to me and only then do his eyes soften just a little.
“I probably killed him and didn’t even realise,” Snow snarls it quietly, like a wolf, raising a brow, it is a clear joke – but Ellie gasps as Whittaker laughs loudly – embarrassing the rest of the company.
High Elites were here to help make me seem loved. However, I’m pretty sure my family could not be more hated for their haughty attitudes. Snow was mean, Whittaker overtly frivolous, Ellie bad mannered – at bad times.
I was just the daughter who had the world on her shoulders – because it felt at times as if the people of Alma only tolerated their King, Warlock and Queen, because they enjoyed me. I was quiet, polite, courteous and tutored in all the fine arts of dancing, poetry and music.
I was a fine Princess and a fine catch.
And yet I couldn’t find anyone to match me.
I was desperate in some ways for love – hoping a man could save me from the fate of carrying a Kingdom on my shoulders in my future. I wasn’t interested in ruling, although I know I could – I was more interested in solitary activities. But I guess it was a luxury.
Speaking of duty… a High Elite speaks up to me, “If you are nervous to be wed before you’re infertile, Princess Faye – know it’s okay to be free, I have been free all my life – it’s heavenly, to submit to marriage is disastrous if you wish to remain happy,” Madame Alice, tells me this with a sly smile – she’s extraordinarily old and frail. The only one confident enough to speak against my crazy family.
“Inappropriate much, dear Alice, Faye will marry – and she’ll marry very, very rich, worth her weight in diamond,” Whittaker defends me and I sigh.
“He, whoever ‘he’ is, isn’t coming to this feast,” I speak up, “I’m not hungry. May I be dismissed?” I look to my mother hopefully.
Ellie gulps, “…if you need the air, go… but come back? I’m sure he’s just late?”
“You don’t even know his name,” I whisper back, feeling embarrassed, “Yet you planned this?”
“I’m sorry, Faye,” Ellie drinks more ale, as she explains, “…the Desentol influence is far greater than Alma… I had to concede to their strange negotiations, or they’d choose war over a peaceful alliance. They value having never lost a battle, or war, they have chosen a great High Lord… um… a gifted soldier as well I hope – maybe even gifted with dark magic like your father. It’s a rare gift. A King’s gift.”
Whittaker drops his fork and loses his smile – as a silence suddenly descends the whole dinner.
“…this is news to me,” Whittaker leans past me to look at Ellie, who frowns at him.
“I knew you wouldn’t take it well,” she admits.
“What kind of man is he?” Snow asks carefully, “Ellie.”
“I was tasked with this, it is my business,” Ellie lifts her chin and tries to appear confident, “I chose a man like I would have, if I had the choice when I was younger. Gifted with luck. Not cursed. And he is given the opportunity to treat Faye well – through a proper courting process.”
“A High Lord is not – gifted – a Prince or King is gifted. Desentol are insulting us,” Snow growls, “He is not punctual if at all, he is clearly drunk and fucking some whore in the town down the fucking road.”
“Snow please,” I kick my chair back and stand, as I try to hold in my tears at the humiliation, “Please, I don’t even care anymore – I’ll just grow old and die alone then, rather then go through all these fucking feasts waiting for the right one – fuck this,” I had a mouth on me too sometimes.
I was just frustrated though.
Whittaker chokes on his wine with my swearing, but it’s intensely sarcastic and he enjoys my foul mouth making the High Elites uncomfortable.
Snow shuts up, but just flares his nostrils as I storm off, all Elite eyes on me closely as I depart.
The High Lord with no name would not concern me anymore.
I wanted to be wed – but I was done with disappointment.
