BVÖRN

***

Emilia laid on her father’s arms, blood dripping from her cut throat devouring her black curls that once shined under the sun as the most valuable jewel in the planet. Lord Bvörn Enavar caressed the delicate face, uncapable of restraining a deep sob. His precious girl was dead. The only thing he had in that disgusting world was taken from him in the most despicable way.

He looked away for a moment, analysing the faces of every single person watching his misery. There was no joy in those people, only pain. But what did they know about that? She was his daughter. They couldn’t share, even if they tried, the pain he was feeling.

He searched in every corner for hope. Between the small stone buildings and its chimneys, behind the old windows and doors, under the weak sun of Autumn and in the shadows of the pines. That was when he felt a hand in his shoulder. Looking up he found Karl’s Gundrag face feeling with pity and an undeniable sadness, after all, he knew Emilia since she was just a baby. She was his niece. His only niece.

Bvörn wasn’t able to hold his old friend’s gaze. Desperate, with tears burning his skin and filling his eyes with blood, he hugged Emilia. There was no warmth or sign of life in her. Twelve years of love and devotion brought to an atrocious ending. And it was only his fault. If he hadn’t fought in that war side by side with King Edos, if he had stayed in the Cold Lands, his precious girl would still be alive.

“My darling girl…”, he sobbed, sinking his face on Emilia’s long curls, that were as black as his. “If I could go back in time… If I could change the past…”, he whimpered, feeling Karl’s hand once again in his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dear friend”, said the blonde chevalier. “Queen Damiana is the only responsible”.

Bvörn pulled his face and gazed down at Karl. Queen Damiana, he though. That monster kidnapped his girl, tortured her, told her men to rape his young daughter with no mercy. “Refresh my memory, Karl…”, he required. “Who’s the most loved person Queen Damiana has in her monstrous life?”.

“Princess Gueneverg, her daughter”, muttered Karl.

“I shall repay the queen. What man would I be if I kept in dept with such a royal lady?”.

Bvörn didn’t saw it but Karl, like everyone else in that small square exchanged worried looks. They all knew what the lord wanted. And they all feared it. What would that turn them all into? The people from the Cold Lands had no desire to turn into despicable monsters like those from the kingdom of Velamont.

***

AGADYA

***

Agadya smiled the exact second a snow crystal touched her skin. She heard the Cold Lands were a beautiful and cold place, but the reality was way better. Snow falling from silver skies, huge mountains filling the land and huge cities built in dark stone. Such a mysterious and magical place, she though.

In that journey she wouldn’t be known as Agadya Vardiel, but as her niece, the princess Gueneverg. Damiana was a ruthless woman, her hands were so filled with blood she couldn’t trust her own shadow. But she trusted her younger sister and that was why Agadya accepted taking the place of Gueneverg in that visit to the Cold Lands. Lord Bvörn Enavar was a vicious man, known by his cold blood and cunning mind. And Damiana tortured and killed his daughter. A piece offering in the name of King Edos, celebrated in the Cold Lands by Lord Bvörn could not be trusted. Never.

She sighted as the chariot arrived to the fortress of High-Wind. The time to start that charade had come. From the second she stepped outside she would be known as Gueneverg, not Agadya. She would have to act like an eighteen-year-old princess and not a grown woman in her mid-twenties. She would have to be the perfect actress. Thank the Gods my niece has blonde hair, she thought with a cheeky smile, happy to not have to dye her beloved golden hair.

One of her sister’s soldiers opened the door of the chariot and helped her. As her feet touched the snow, she had to smile. That was an incredible place. Huge walls, an infinite number of streets filled with dark stone buildings and grumpy people, and a gigantic castle in the top of a hill, kissed by snow, where red flags bled into the silver skies.

“May your arrival bring peace and prosperity for both our kingdoms, your royal highness”, said a tall blonde man. She stared at him, trying to realize who the figure was and had to hold a gasp. That chevalier in front of her, inside the shiniest Armor she had ever seen, was sir Karl Gundarg, the heir of one of the richest lands in the kingdom of Sedaria. And, of course, the right hand of Bvörn Enavar.

“May lord Enavar be fair to judge the proposal I bring in the name of my mother”. That felt really awkward, she realized. Calling her sister her mother was something very unpleasant. Damiana as her mother? Gods forbid that. She would never change her beloved mommy Elana for anyone.

I hope I can survive this. Would be a shame to not taste my mommy’s plum jam one more time.

“Lord Bvörn it’s the fairest man, your highness. Sadly, he doesn’t share that quality with her majesty, your mother”, the man’s voice was cold as steel but Agadya wouldn’t give him the pleasure of answering that clear insult. No, she had to act like her niece. And Gueneverg was a perfect diplomat. In fact, she almost killed her to lead that journey, that young and foolish girl. But everyone knew the risks of it. The chances of that being a trap were high, but an alliance with Sedaria was too valuable to waste even the smallest opportunity.

The chevalier pointed to the street, inviting her into the fortress. She started walking, feeling each and every eye fixed on her figure. There was an undeniable tension in the air. She grabbed the velvet of the tail of the dress and kept a slow pace. The wind elevated her light hair and the silver lights filled her blue eyes, giving them a different shade. Agadya was an impressive figure and also a target and the biggest enemy.

When the feeling of something really wrong was almost choking her, a line of soldiers cut through the people and killed her guards. She screamed and jumped back, but strong hands hold her still. The chevalier was looking at her with deadly eyes, while her last guards screamed and fight for their lives. Swords filled the air with their metallic sounds. The smell of fresh blood penetrated her nostrils. And, in the end, no one from Velamont was alive, except for her.

That was when she saw him for the first time. Long curly hair black as coal. Eyes that were pools of shadows and a skin kissed by the sun of the southern lands, where, it was known, he fought in gruesome battles. That was lord Bvörn Enavar.

“That’s the chance to bring peace to our kingdoms, lord Enavar. Don’t waste it on revenge”, she tried to sound fierce, or, at least, a cold reasonable monarch, like her sister and niece. And she failed.

Lord Bvörn walked to her, a gaze of madness and fury in his dark eyes. In other occasion she would have described him as a handsome and strong man. But only a dumb and mad woman would let her skin burn for an enemy that had clear intentions of killing her.

“Your mother torture my daughter, your highness”, he groaned. His voice was deep and masculine enough to break a thousand hearts, but the cruelty of his face made Agadya pray to the Gods. That man was going to kill her. She knew that.

“I cannot imagine your pain, my lord. But think wisely. You can change the future of Sedaria and Velamont. Our kingdoms can grow…”.

“Fuck the kingdoms. For all I care they can burn to ashes! I want my revenge. And I will have it”.

She looked around, trembling as the people started to scream insults at her. Incorrect. At her niece. But they didn’t know she wasn’t her, thank to the Gods. Poor Gueneverg was too young to handle a situation like that. Or to be ready to accept death. But she was. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Agadya was only five years old when the army of Sedaria attacked Velamont and killed her father, the late king Damian, and her brother, prince Alexander. The sedarian dragged her and stabbed her in the chest, and then proceed to rape her sister Damiana and bit her dear mother. None of them died, but the life they had after that was not that different from death.

Damiana hated very single man. She even killed her husband after getting with child. Her mother retired in a small village on the countryside, trying to forget about the past and the horror of loosing a child and a husband, and seeing her both daughters being torture. And her, well, Agadya could not stand men. She didn’t want to them like Damiana, but she feared them.

Men where not to be trusted or loved. They should be feared. They were no better than demons.

“What do you pretend, lord Enavar? Kill me and send my dead body to my mother? Would that bring your daughter back to life?”, Agadya had nothing to lose. Lord Bvörn Enavar was the son of the man that once raped Damiana. The son of one of the “greatest” generals of Sedaria: lord Rörn Enavar. That was the reason that made her mad sister torture that poor and innocent child. And now, the son of the monster was claiming revenge for his dead daughter.

The man stared at her for long moments, while the people insulted her and spitted to the ground, damning Velamont and her sister Damiana. She trembled but forced herself to stay strong. Damiana was a monster created by monsters. And the man she had in front of her was no different.

“No, your highness”, the lord said in a corrosive tone. “Death would be a gift compared to what your mother did to my daughter”, Agadya felt her blood turning into ice, her face getting pale. The man got close to her, his warm breath caressing her face. “You will scream like my girl screamed. You will cry like she cried. I would fuck your body until you bleed. I would cut your hair and your skin. I will burn you with boiling water. I will make you spit on your own mother’s name. You will pay the price for what your mother did and you will wish to die”.