His Caged Princess

The scorching heat of the sun burned down upon the green fields, the sweltering haze clear to the naked eye. The grass was long, reaching high towards the blazing sun, and the soft yet scarce breeze danced across the meadows like a soothing rhythm, a rhythm that was a stark contrast to the agonising screams of a woman in childbirth, for there was a small hut in the middle of these fields where a woman lay on a wooden bed. Her eyes stung with tears of pain.

"You are almost there," the elderly woman assisting with the labour encouraged her soothingly. Her eyes flitted to the sun in the sky.

"I must hurry before the eclipse..." The woman on the bed cried in pain, her light blond hair sticky with sweat.

"We cannot control the hands of time nor the cards of destiny, place your faith in God," the elder woman said, looking towards the handsome young man who stood in the corner. A rich navy cloak over his shoulders was the only thing giving away his wealth, but, despite that, he held an aura of importance around him. His sharp grey eyes held pride as they gazed at the woman who lay on the bed before shifting his gaze to the elder woman.

"Catherina... how much longer?" He asked quietly.

"My King, there is no timer on these things, but I believe when the blood eclipse graces our lands, the princess will be born," Catherina replied gravely. The younger woman looked at her defiantly, her red irises holding denial and refusal.

"It may be a boy," she said firmly.

Catherina simply smiled gently. The fate of this child was preordained, but she said nothing, not wanting to overwhelm the woman any more than she already was.

The skies darkened as a red glow blanketed the lands; minutes had passed, but it felt like hours. The rare blood moon blocked out the light of the sun, and everything seemed to be still as if awaiting something special...

The king held the woman's hand, kissing it gently as a scream tore through her body. Moments later, a blinding light emitted around the entire hut as a soft cry filled the air.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty, it is a girl," Catherina announced, clipping the cord and wrapping the child in a woven blanket. She turned towards the king, who stood still.

A storm of emotions swirled inside him; relief, happiness, and the sheer weight of the child his love had given birth to was not ordinary. The woman on the bed closed her eyes, turning her face away from the child and man and tugging her hand free as the king reached for the child. He took the bundle carefully. Looking back at him were two blazing eyes of red and gold, brighter than the sun, and the king was forced to look away from their intensity.

Catherina left the room, giving the parents of the child privacy. After all, even they did not know how special the child was, and she could not tell them, for the time was not right.

"Do you not wish to carry her?" The king asked the woman, cradling the child in his arm. She closed her eyes, sitting up, her back towards him.

"No. Take her and leave," she said quietly. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, and she knew no matter how hard she tried, once something was broken, it could never be whole again. The moment her child was determined to be a female, she knew she had to let her go.

The young king looked at the back of the woman he loved with all his heart. Could they not flee? Live together as a family?

"Things do not need to be this way," he said quietly, looking down at the cooing baby in his arms. He felt his heart fill with warmth. How could you love something you had just laid eyes on?

"There is no other option," she replied coldly, her voice sounding icy.

If she had known his identity to begin with, she would have avoided this, but it was too late.

"Do you... have a name for her?" He asked softly. He knew the weight of their decision and the sacrifice they had to make for the safety of their child and the future of the kingdom.

"Layana," the woman answered as she gazed out the window.

Her trembling hands clutched the bed tightly. Her pale blond hair looked almost white in the sunshine that was now slowly returning to normal. Her voice did not betray the pain in her eyes, those red eyes spoke a thousand words, but she dared not turn to look into the eyes of her beloved.

She heard the sound of a door and turned to let out a strangled sob, her hand clamping over her mouth as she saw the room was now empty. He had taken her and left. The pain overcame her, and she began rocking her body as she cried tears of anguish.

The king closed his eyes, hearing the painful cries of a woman who had lost the man she loved and her child. Taking a deep breath, he strapped the child to himself and mounted his horse. There was no other option...

-----

TWO YEARS LATER

Fear. Death. Blood.

The three mixed together, tainting the very air one needed to breathe. The taste of fear lingered in one's mouth, while death and blood, illuminated by the setting sun, filled the horizon.

A young boy, barely five years of age, walked through the streets he once called home, where once the streets were lit by glowing lamps and filled with bustling crowds as they bent over merchandise from a variety of vendors. A place where men should have been gathered, drinking and joking, and women gossiping as they hurried home. The smell of fresh home-cooked meals should have filled the air.

There was now nothing but dead bodies. The bodies of those he called uncle, aunt, and friends littered the streets, discarded like a child would discard a ragdoll. Each one was covered in nightmarish wounds as they were cut down in whatever they were doing.

He saw a young girl, who had been playing with her teapot and cups, bent over the small table, her head hanging on to her neck by a sliver of her skin.

An elderly man who used to sneak the young boy sweets was sat in his rocking chair, staring ahead, eyes wide in horror. A large gash that was still leaking blood ran down his torso.

The little boy's lips trembled in fear. His father had told him to not come home today, commanding him to stay in a cave away from the clan territory, but it was getting dark, and he had been scared.

To the little boy, this was worse than a nightmare. No child should see this, suffer this, or experience the horror that he was.

He broke into a run, his young mind telling him to find his parents. After all, he would be safe there. His father and brothers were strong. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Adrenaline fuelled him, his heart pounding, and the sound rang in his ears, too loud in this town that had become as silent as a graveyard.

Hundreds of bodies covered the ground. Blood covered the ground like buckets of spilt paint, creating a river of blood through streets that were once grand and beautiful.

He had just made it to the large grey stone castle that he called home when he heard the sound of thundering hooves.

"Make sure none are left alive!" A man called out.

The little boy froze in fear. His dark grey eyes, full of innocence, stared up at the approaching horses that thundered to a stop as their riders pulled the reins. The neighing of the horses was loud in the air.

"A survivor? Kill him!"

The boy's eyes widened in horror. Was this a punishment for disobeying his father's order?

In the confusion of his small mind, he stared at another body that lay on the ground not far from him. The arm had been cut off, and a sword was stuck in the young boy's chest - a boy who was barely thirteen. The little boy's eyes welled with tears as he recognised the body of his brother.

As a soldier jumped from his horse, raising his knife, the boy screamed. His fear and horror were replaced with anguish and rage, and his entire body filled with an immense aura. The sky above them crackled with lightning, followed by the raging roar of thunder. Lightning struck the earth, creating large cracks, and threw the men from their horses.

"Get him!"

"He's too... I can't get close!"

"Shoot him!"

The child didn't move. His dark eyes were now crackling with a light as bright as the lightning that circled him, spreading from his entire body and striking the men down, killing them instantly. Silence fell, and the little boy fell to his knees, staring at the burnt bodies of his attackers. Their grey cloaks bore the royal crest, a crest that sat high upon their castles and flags. A royal crest that House Storm had promised to serve.

Tears spilt down the boy's cheeks as he ran towards the castle. He did not stop until he saw the bodies of his parents and seven-year-old brother, covered in blood as they lay there dead.

"Mama?" He called, his voice shaking in fear. Though soft, it echoed in the large hall. There was no answer. The little boy ran to his mother, tugging at her once pink dress, now soaked with her own blood and that of her husband and son. "Mama no! I need you, Mama! Don't leave me, I'll protect you," his tiny voice sobbed.

He closed his eyes and cuddled against his mother's body, lifting her heavy arm and draping it over himself as he heard shouting. His heart pounded in fear and sadness. He only wanted her warmth, her love, and her soft whispers telling him it was going to be okay. Even though something deep in his mind told him she was never going to wake up, he still clung to her tightly.

When the men came to do a final sweep of the rooms, none noticed the little boy who was alive as he clung to the body of his mother, never to feel her warmth or love again.

He did not notice when the men began to pour oil over the grounds. Only when the burning flames grew stronger, the heat and smell clouding his senses, did the boy realise what had happened.

Fearing that his parents would get burned, he grabbed his mother's legs, trying to drag her away from the fire. He stumbled, falling back, and sobbed but got up and tried again. However, his efforts were futile. The flames were growing and spreading fast. He let out a frustrated whimper as he saw his brother's body catch flames. The smell of burning flesh stung his nose, and the boy knew that he needed to leave. His father's final words echoed in his mind,

"Stay away from home tonight, Declan. And no matter what happens, survive. Survive and avenge us, and tell no one the truth of your powers."

The boy's fear-filled eyes hardened with determination. Despite the tremble in his tiny hands, and the thumping of his heart, he raised his head and nodded.

"I will, Papa... I will..."

Almost Fifteen Years Later...

The Kingdom of Ehlesaar was known for its wealth and beauty. Across the oceans, everyone had heard of the mines of diamonds and gold, riches beyond one's dreams, oceans filled with pearls, and lands as green and fertile as one could ever hope for. Whether it was the huge white snow-covered Altheyan mountains to the south, or the glittering rivers and streams that ran through the lands, or the orchards full of fruits and flowers that adorned the gardens of the wealthy, the enchanting beauty of Ehlesaar gave birth to the name 'heaven on earth', and to those who visited it was nothing short of that.

Each season brought its own beauty to the land. Summer was the longest season, but despite the heat, the buildings made of marble and stone kept the heat at bay, and when winter came it was not hard nor too brutal for most.

The people of Ehlesaar displayed their wealth with grace and pride, in the forms of luxurious gowns, diamond jewellery, or abundant meals, with rich wines and meat in plentiful. The kingdom was prosperous, and the rate of those who could not afford shelter was few. Yet when the problem is minuscule it is often ignored, dusted under the carpet as the voice is not loud enough to be worth listening to.

In the middle of fine marble palace-like houses of the nobles, and the stunning villas of the working class, there were still those who had nothing. It was to these people that Ehlesaar did not feel like heaven but just another kingdom, another land, but even they knew they were safer, and far better off than what they may come across if they ever tried to leave the kingdom. Darkness, death, and danger were not far from their very own kingdom.

To the west of Ehlesaar were the forgotten lands. Drained of water, nothing grew on these barren lands, and beasts of all kinds of nature were said to roam it – lands that no one conquered due to its past. A place tainted with so much bloodshed that it was said to be cursed.

To the north was a dense forest that separated them from the kingdom of Azhar. With the king's impressive army at all sides of the kingdom, his court of mages in all elements, and his supreme council of advisors from all the major houses of the kingdom, the people of Ehlesaar were untouchable, or so they thought, for soon their kingdom of heaven would face darkness too.

It had already begun, like a whisper in the night, a shadow being cast over it. Unseeing, unprepared, and unbeknownst were the people who lived in Ehlesaar, but they too would soon have their eyes forced open.

-----

Far off in the depths of the forgotten lands, where no man dared set foot, deep beneath the surface, in a stone, tomb-like cave, a man encased in shadows sat on a blackened throne. The darkness and evil that rolled off him would make even those in their graves turn. Covered in a floating black cloak that was blacker than night, he towered near seven feet tall.

He had remained in these walls for the last fifteen years, awaiting, recovering, and biding his time to return to power and destroy the kingdom of Ehlesaar that were responsible for his demise. His skeletal hands gripped the arms of the throne.

"It is time," he said. His voice dripped with an evil so deep that it would make the evilest of men shudder.

"Sire..." a whispering voice hissed. "There is still the risk..."

"I am the Dark Lord, nothing will stand in my way. Not this time. I will destroy them from within. This time it is Ehlesaar who will fall, and I shall rise, taking my rightful place. This kingdom... no, this world belongs to me," he hissed. The unseen bowed down to their Lord.

"Yes, my lord, we are ready,"

"Perfect," The Dark Lord said, deep under the hood of his cloak a cruel cold smile crossed his lips. Ehlesaar would fall, and he would be the one to destroy it...

-----

Near the southern side of the kingdom was the capital Odairo, with the stunning Altheyan mountains as a backdrop. In the centre of Odairo sat the white marble palace of the royal family, sat upon its dais like a beacon for all those around.

Its grandeur and wealth were something all admired, with its large jewel-encrusted pillar and archways, glittering marble floors, and doors engraved with gold in intricate patterns. Huge granite ceilings held hundreds of chandeliers made of crystals in different shades and colours that cast stunning colours around the large halls only adding to the effect cast by the stained-glass windows. Many had wished to set foot or simply touch the beautiful palace of the royals. How they envied the life of those who lived within.

Deep within the walls of the palace, there was a young woman who only wished one day to be set free, free from the palace she saw as nothing more than a white cage. Despite the size of the palace, it felt tight, small, and suffocating to the young woman. And how could it not? For she had to always remain poised, elegant, and graceful. No matter how perfectly she fitted the role of a princess, to Princess Layana of Ehlesaar, it felt as if she was tied down by chains wrought from gold and precious jewels.

Layana looked out from the large balcony of her bedroom, with the back view of the palace spread beneath her. The beautiful Altheyan mountains in the distance glittered under the burning sunrise, and below, she could see the orchards, fountains and green gardens spread far and wide.

She brushed a stray strand of her soft, waist-length, champagne-coloured curls out of her face. She was a beauty that stood out even from her sisters with her smooth ivory skin, angular jaw, and pointed chin. Above all else, it was her eyes that caught the attention of all, a mystic rarity. Her irises were part amber-red, part topaz-gold, rimmed with long, thick lashes. A slender nose and plump pouty lips finished off her looks.

Her body was slender but filled with womanly curves, was covered with only a silken lilac nightdress that flowed to the ground, the fabric clinging to the curve of her breasts. Just like their kingdom, her beauty was rumoured through the neighbouring lands. Soon her eighteenth birthday would arrive, and, with it, she knew the potential proposals of marriage...

She sighed softly, turning away from the beauty of nature. Her quarters were as beautiful as the outside of the palace, with gold-flecked ivory marble walls. Tapestries made of ivory velvet and gold hung around the room. Two large double doors with a filigree design sat on opposite walls. The two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made of pure gold sat on the window sidewall. A huge canopy bed of pure gold sat against the wall opposite the balcony; the bedding was ivory silk with golden thread embroidery running over it in regal patterns. In between the two large arched windows were the balcony doors. They were made of the most breathtaking glass in shades of yellows, oranges, and red, matching the magnificent chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The only other furnishing in the room was the velvet sofa, a long table, and the bedside drawers.

The sound of footsteps was heard, and a petite maid wearing a light grey floor-length dress with a red sash that signified she was a member of Layana's personal staff, stepped out from the adjoining door that led to Layana's bathroom, having just gotten her mistresses bath ready.

"His Royal Majesty has returned and wishes to speak to you immediately," the woman said, bowing politely. Layana nodded, sighing inwardly. She knew the reason for his summons.

Only two nights ago over dinner, the first queen, Myra, had insulted the second queen, Azalea, and Layana had not been able to stay quiet. It was one of her faults as her family would say.

Myra hated her stepdaughters. Although she may not have been vocal about it, no one was blind. Layana herself was at the bottom of that list, for, unlike her sisters, she was the only one born out of wedlock. No one knew who her mother was, not even Layana herself. Although it hurt at times, and she was often whispered about, she never let it show. She only knew that on the day of her birth, she was given to the second queen, Azalea, to be taken care of, who, at the time, was nursing her own child too. To Layana, Azalea was her mother; she had been the one to raise her and take care of her throughout her life.

Once she had bathed, she wore a sage green dress, fitted at the waist and flowed out elegantly, a row of dazzling diamonds in cognac and champagne made up the border of her bodice. On her feet, she wore a pair of shimmering gold sandals with two-inch heels. They were all the rage in the capital, with the new design giving women an added few inches and some elegance to any outfit.

"Thank you, Rina, I will make my way to my father's office," Layana said, taking a deep breath.

Her father was a scary, emotionless man. Well, he showed emotions, but those that weren't the most pleasant to see at times. Anger was one that Layana knew would be coursing through his veins thanks to her insolence...

Not far from the outskirts of the capital of Odairo, two men were travelling towards the palace.

"Declan, wait up!" A blond man in his early twenties shouted as he ran through the trees to reach the second man.

"You're too slow," Declan's cold, husky voice answered.

He didn't once turn to look at his comrade as his dark eyes scanned the area ahead. The colour of his eyes was not common in Ehlesaar, whose citizens had lighter coloured eyes, with blond or brown hair and skin pleasantly tanned under the summer sun. Declan was the opposite of the warmth of the people of Ehlesaar. His pale skin and dark black hair gave him a foreign look; he stood at six foot four and towered over most, with a lean yet muscular build. He would turn twenty this coming winter.

Declan was an orphan. Despite his traumatic past, he remained composed and strong. However, behind those dark grey eyes, he held secrets, pain, and nightmares of long ago. His frown deepened as he looked at the palace of the royals.

The time had come to face the man responsible for the death of his family. He had bided his time, keeping his pain inside him for years. No matter how scared and confused he had been as a child, his father's words kept him strong.

He had always been advanced for his age, but after that dreaded night, he had changed even more, shedding away his childish dreams and whims and focusing on revenge. To learn the truth and to bring justice to his house. Declan had risen through the ranks in the army, excelling in every field, and if ever questioned about that night, he would say he did not remember.

When he was a child, when he awoke screaming and crying from a haunting dream of the massacre, he would never utter what his dreams contained, and with time, he learned to keep silent, waking in a cold sweat. Even now, those nightmares sometimes returned, haunting him and filling him with regret that he had not been able to protect his family.

"Ah... can you stop with that frown?" Aren, the blond, spoke up, bringing Declan out of his dark thoughts. He ignored him as he continued walking.

His black pants and tunic with his grey belt that held his twin swords had nothing to show off his status. Gloves covered his hands, despite the warm weather, and a black cloak fell over his shoulders. He held the reins of a white stallion that carried a few bags.

A soft wind blew through the trees, ruffling Declan's black, chin-length hair. The city was getting ever closer, and Declan wanted to reach it as soon as possible.

"If you're done talking, shall we continue?" He asked coldly.

Aren sighed inwardly, knowing this was not easy on his best friend and closest confidant. They were sent to the palace by the general of the western border, General Elian of House Halan, one of the five generals of the king.

"You know we were sent because general Elian trusts us more than most," Aren said quietly.

Declan didn't reply. From the way he stood, emotionless and calm, one would not think Declan of House Storm was the only survivor left of the entire clan, a clan that was once said to be as powerful as the royals. A clan sacrificed for the betterment of the kingdom. Aren pulled himself out of his dark thoughts despite the pain it bought to his chest. He was one of the few who would remember and never forget the gift of peace that cost Declan his entire family.

"Well, do you think we'll get to see those pretty little things?" Aren asked suggestively, a small smile playing on his lips.

Declan did not need to ask to know what he meant – the four princesses were said to be the most gorgeous women in the land. Not that he cared, nor was he interested. He would never feel anything but hate and disgust for the royals who sacrificed others for their own selfish gains.

"I'm not interested. Remember why we are going there, Aren," he said curtly as he raised his hand. A ball of lightning crackled around it, and Aren stepped back. "Or I won't mind reminding you." Aren winced.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said. "You're no fun."

"Good." The younger man walked ahead, leaving his comrade behind once again.

The streets of Odairo were busy, despite it being so early. The market square was full of hustle and bustle. Street vendors were already set up, selling an array of things from general daily household needs to trinkets and ornaments that one would buy a woman they wished to pamper to toys and puppets to please the children. Stalls of fresh fruit and vegetables displayed the ripest of the day's pickings and sweet baked delicacies and desserts to pick on whilst shopping.

The air was filled with the many smells of everything available to purchase, mixed with the scent of women's fragrances and the fresh breeze. Despite it being the capital, it was clear Ehlesaar was still nature's haven. Trees and bushes lined the cobbled streets, and there were fountains and small flower beds with benches scattered around.

Women in elegant yet often revealing gowns sashayed around, with nothing better to do than come to the market for some fun. Young children ran away from their parents to play with other kids they were passing in the busy streets or simply to annoy their parents. Middle-aged women stopped amid their shopping to gossip about the latest news of the neighbourhood, and men smoked their cigars or had a cup of tea as they laughed jovially over the discussions of a hunt or an upcoming wrestling match.

Aren whistled softly, his eyes running over two women who walked by. Both cast him a look, giggling as they whispered to one another, admiring the warriors.

"The women of Ehlesaar are the most beautiful," he murmured to his dark, brooding companion. Declan did not reply, ignoring the looks he got from passing women. He was not interested.

The crowds were filled with heads of brown or blond hair, and he did not miss the curious gazes that came his way. It was a shame that a clan that was once so famous had been forgotten so quickly. Did the people of this kingdom forget about the pale-skinned, dark-haired House of Storm completely?

Why did we even come here? Declan thought in bitter annoyance, glaring at the happy blond next to him who was staring shamelessly at any female body that passed him. Declan stopped suddenly, and Aren slammed into his horse's rear, making the horse neigh and kick the offending man, causing a few passersby to snicker as Aren landed on his butt. His light tan skin flushed red in embarrassment as a few young women pointed and laughed.

"What was that for, Declan?" He hissed, getting to his feet and looking at the man who had the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"You wanted to come here, despite the importance of our duty... then get what you need, and let's go. If you were not staring at every woman that walked past like a lecher, you would have seen that I had stopped," Declan's icy voice explained before he turned and walked off, his proud horse in tow.

"I'm going to get my revenge Pedro," Aren promised, glaring at the horse who simply tossed his white mane and followed his master with the same arrogance. Aren frowned. "Like master, like steed, you are both annoying. God knows how I put up with the both of you,"

Declan ignored him as Aren rushed to buy some fruit for himself and hurried after his friend, offering him a ripe mango which he refused. Aren shrugged and tossed one to the horse, despite being kicked by him only moments earlier. The dull ache from his kick to his thigh was still there, and he knew it would leave a bruise.

As they got closer to the palace, they could see the guards spread around the outer walls of the palace and along the bridge. The guards at the first gate asked them their business, only to notice Aren of House Silver Mountain's crest. Allowing them entrance, a stable boy took Pedro's reigns from Declan, stating that he would be fed and sheltered.

A man in a smart grey tunic, the Ehlesaar Crest of a White Wolf howling at a silver moon with three claw marks tearing through the moon, was embroidered on his left shoulder. It was clear he was a high-class servant. His next words made Declan freeze,

"Duke Declan of House Storm, Lord Aren of House Silver Mountain, I welcome you on behalf of His Royal Majesty," he said, not noticing Declan's anger.

He had never accepted the dukedom of his house. How dare the king call him by a title he did not earn... was this a joke to the man? He clenched his free hand that was not resting on the hilt of his sword under his cloak, trying to calm the raging storm that was growing within his chest.

That title had been his grandfather's until it was torn from him in cold blood. His father should have inherited that title, and then his brother. It was not his to take or to carry. Not like this. Declan frowned as they walked along, unseeing anything.

Evaan... finally, after years, I get to see you. You owe me answers, and I intend to get them. No matter what.

Rage and anger blazed inside him, licking his insides, consuming him, inch by inch. His hands crackled with electricity, but he closed his eyes, controlling that inferno of fury within him...