Lady in Red
It was said that she came in the night, red dress making no sound as she slipped through corridors and past unwary guardsmen. Scholars and laymen alike agreed that she was more water than woman, more fluid than a living being had any right to be.
King Kalen Trol knew better than to believe in stories – he'd met her, once twenty years ago. The Lady in Red.
She was a manifestation of desire, a being of indescribable beauty and grace, one who came to visit men, came to offer what they desired. Came to steal their souls. Little was written about her – little that was true, in any case – but Kalen had both the means and the desire to discover her true origins. He found them less than surprising, as the Yaelfin kind had been reaching across the breach for years, but what was of particular interest to him was the power refusal granted. Stories showed no evidence of any man who had ever been approached by the Lady and lived to tell the tale, but Kalen had several advantages in that regard.
A movement at his chamber door distracted him from the last of his research, and he glanced up. Shadows met his gaze, and he shook his head; tiredness threatened to claim him. There was little more to be gleaned about the beauty, though he had never been one to rest on his laurels or wait for others to give what he knew he could find himself. It had taken time, but he had selected the finest complement of guards that his substantial treasury could buy – something the council had readily allowed after the first three attempts on his life. Of course, they did not know that he had planned those attempts himself, but what the council didn't know would not cause them harm.
“They were good, Kalen,” a woman's voice said from the center of the room and he turned, quickly, to see her standing in all her resplendent crimson glory, “but not that good.” The dress she wore clung to her body, flattering each of her impossible curves. Not a hair on her head was out of place, and as she moved the dress flowed with her, never leaving her side unless it was to hint at more beneath, then flatten again to trick the eye. It was no wonder so many had willingly given their souls to such a creature – desire stirred, even in him.
“My Lady,” he said with no surprise in his voice. There had been little hope that the guards would be able to stop her, but he had to admit he expected to at least see her coming. Now, his research would bear fruit – or he would die.
“My King,” she replied, her voice dropping into a sultry tone as she swept forward. Each step was a work of art, each movement precisely calculated to evoke a critical male response, but Kalen remained unmoved, in every respect. “Shall we begin?” She purred as she drew closer, but he stood before she could reach his chair.
“No,” he said brightly, “I don' think so.”
“What?” Her face fell, and he could see the magic surrounding her waver slightly as his rejection hit home. “My King, perhaps you mistake my intentions,” she fluttered her eyelashes suggestively, “I offer only -”
“I know exactly what you offer,” he cut her off, “and I'm not interested. I know what you are, Yaelfin, and I know what you do to men who try your wares.”
She snarled, lips pulling back to reveal a row of needle-sharp teeth. Even in anger, she was still beautiful, and Kalen could feel a measure of his resolve weakening. Forming a picture of Trent in his mind, he held his ground. She would not change him.
“You're one of them!” She hissed as it became apparent he would not be falling into her arms.
He nodded. Only a few of his advisers knew of his particular preferences, and he had to be careful never to be seen with Trent in public. He was a king, but that did not make immune to prejudice, and more importantly to the daggers thrown by those fully in its grasp.
“What do you want of me, man's man?” She said with a sneer. “I cannot provide you with the flesh you crave.”
“No, you cannot.” He pointed a thick finger at her. “But you can provide me with information. I've done my work, I know the rules your kind are bound by. Acceptance of your gifts allows you to ravage the body and soul of those you seduce, but refusal means you must answer a question.”
She was seething now, bare shoulders heaving as her anger rose.
“I am correct, yes?” He asked with a smile.
“Yes,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Excellent! Then let us proceed. I wish to know where the Relic of Thordaran is located.”
“The Relic?” She screeched. “That is not meant for the hands of man!”
“Not just any man, perhaps,” he spread his hands, “but perhaps one such as myself. Now,” he said darkly, “talk.”
Even bound to answer, she hesitated, pale shoulders heaving with the force of her breathing. Delicate hands were balled into fists and her form under the flowing crimson dress was writhing, still trying to catch his interest and avoid her reply. He drew his sword.
“Do not!” She cried. The Yaelfin hated steel, hated anything man-made. A single strike wouldn't kill her, but would make a festering wound, one that would not be easily removed.
“Then talk!” He bellowed, and she dropped her head, all movement ceasing.
“Very well,” she said softly. “What you seek is on the Isle of Veradon, buried deep in the caverns of the Grellock.”
He sheathed his sword, eyes bright. “Excellent, Lady. We shall get along famously yet. Now, turn around.”
“What?”
He moved before she could stop him, clapping padded steel bracelets around he wrists. They would not harm her, so long as she did not try to remove them.
“I am not going alone, Lady – you will show me the way.”
- D
No comments:
Post a Comment