“How can you refuse?” she argued. “How can you even entertain the very idea? After all he’s done for you…for Aldebaran!”
“‘All he’s done’? Nonsense. We could have easily handled that minor situation ourselves. Examine the facts, daughter. He only came because you sent him.”
“Minor?” The words sputtered from her throat. “Father, I was there. I can’t fathom calling that rampaging mob a ‘minor situation.’ Besides, I’ve already told him we’d attend!”
The King’s glare manifested like a roiling storm cloud. “You did what? Accepted it on my behalf?”
“I had to do what was right.”
“It wasn’t right at all. You lied, Clarysa–not just to me, but to him. He may be one of those detestable warlocks, but he is still a prince. Have you no respect for protocol? Or for me and how your action would reflect upon my court?” Leopold slammed a fist upon his armrest. “How many times have I warned you about that brash impulsiveness of yours? How many times, child?”
Clarysa opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He only addressed her as “child” when he was livid, as he definitely was now. During these moments, it was best to simply bite her tongue.
“I cannot just strike up an agreement with that man. There are political ramifications, most of them deleterious.” The King raised a quick hand to block her protests. “No, no, don’t say anything. Nothing! I know exactly what’s running through your naive little head.” Her father sighed. “I appreciate what he’s done for us in the name of safety, Clarysa, and I’m not ruling out future alliances when the time is right. But heaven help me, he comes from a family full of rogues, charlatans and murderers! Is this the type you would have us associate our good name with? I might as well abdicate the throne.”
“But if you took the risk you’d save the lives of countless citizens. You’d be a hero!”
“Don’t bother with flattery. This conversation is over.”
Clarysa crossed her arms. “I’ve seen what those Pestilence victims can do. You’re making a serious mistake, Father.”
“Then so be it,” he responded in a tired voice. “There are matters your King–as well as your father–knows better than you. Now go to your quarters.”
His entrenched denial stunned her. When tears failed to move him, she spun about on her heel and stomped off to her sleeping chamber. The bed frame shook with the force of her landing. There she cried and pouted and cried some more. Beneath her anger, embarrassment reared its ugly head. She had encouraged Stellan to take the risk, after all. Now, because of her miscalculation, the King would appear as though he had reneged. Stellan would be furious and hurt–and it would be all her fault.
Father, how could you be so cold? There really must have been a royal order barring Stellan from the kingdom–or was someone trying to bar Stellan from her? She hadn’t exactly made a secret of her attraction to the elusive sorcerer prince. However, her father had never directly informed her of this edict. Why tell Edward but not her? Did he mean to leave open a back door? Clarysa massaged her aching forehead. Why did it always come down to politics, even in the King’s own family?
She poured herself a goblet of water and stepped out onto her private balcony. The stars twinkled merrily. Clarysa reclined on her divan. A warm breeze caressed her skin. As she sipped, her thoughts drifted to the sorcerer. Stellan’s wealth was not in jewels, gold or fine clothing. It lay embedded in magic and mystery and charismatic friends. Clarysa sighed, aching to explore every last dark and enchanted corner of his world. But he’s a sorcerer, sprouted a warning voice in her head. He’s dangerous.
“But he’s a very handsome sorcerer,” she whispered. “And so what if I like danger?”
There were other qualities in him she admired. For one thing, her boundless energy didn’t seem to ruffle him. In fact, nothing seemed to ruffle him very much. We suit each other perfectly.
Clarysa frowned. There she went again, making plans where none should form. But Stellan’s fragile trust of her would turn to hatred her if her father didn’t accept the invitation. She couldn’t bear the thought of being one more person who had let him down. She had to avoid it at all costs. Trust, love–those two things bound together everything in life worth having.
Clarysa rose slowly, her thirst a distant memory. Perhaps…perhaps all could be salvaged if she responded to the invitation. If her father couldn’t see reason where Pestilence was concerned, then it was up to his youngest daughter to ensure something effective was being done about it. And Stellan had more answers than all of Aldebaran combined.
That night, thoughts erupting like a volcano, Clarysa composed an urgent letter to her cousin Mirabelle.
The very survival of Aldebaran depends on your courage, she began.
Chapter 17
Stellan sat upon his throne, his chin resting uncomfortably in his right hand. He maintained this position for exactly two hundred heartbeats before switching off to his left hand, which, oddly, was even more uncomfortable. Thoughts raced helter-skelter through his mind. How would the King react to his proposal? Would he fully understand the ramifications of Pestilence spreading to his populace? Could he possibly put aside his bigotry against practitioners of magick–read: himself–and rally his army against the threat?
Stellan had witnessed first hand the rapid degeneration Pestilence wrought on a living being. Within hours of the initial contact, the body and mind were lost. The recent infection of humans proved the plague had become much more virulent. Stellan sighed as he slid his left hand up over his forehead. Excellent work, Alucard, excellent work. How long did it take you to configure the devil’s brew this time, I wonder? What unspeakable forces have you conspired with? If Pestilence had indeed spread as far as the outreaches of Aldebaran, as he suspected from the mysterious deaths there recently, then King Leopold had only
