THE CLAN:1

[steph]

As princess Alessandra stared for the first time at her future husband, not caring that it was rude, she felt her blood heating to a roiling boil and her lungs burned for air as she was holding her breath. But she dared not breathe. Alessandra would have screamed at her father for promising her hand to this man.

General Yana was old; way over twice her age and had wrinkles hanging on his neck that would elicit the backside of an elephant to feel sympathy. His eyes were a jaundiced yellow, somewhat reminiscent of a snake, and Alessandra’s skin felt violated just from the way he was leering at her. If this man was a war hero, no one would have known it from looking at him.

He bowed before the King of the West, Jerald Delamasca, and sized up the princess once more. She was taller than average and was an abundance of curves in a formal dress that lovingly hugged her porcelain skin. Her long waves of red hair fell loosely past her breasts and her hazel eyes glinted dangerously as she observed him with a quiet but powerful presence. Yana’s already beady eyes narrowed into slits as he noticed Alessandra’s apparent fury. The expression made him appear even more snake-like and some of the princess’s anger transformed into fear.

“Your daughter is a lovely specimen, your Majesty,” he said, pausing to rub his whiskered chin thoughtfully. “However. I only wish she were more willing to be my bride.”

It took all the strength Alessandra had left in her not to snort. The king glared at her and firmly told her with his eyes to remain silent; it was shameful for a woman to speak in the presence of a man of high status. Even princesses.

“She will warm up to you, Yana,” the king began. “It is impossible for a woman to resist your charm. Even if my daughter somehow manages it, women are fickle. They are unable to resist wealth and power, both of which you have in abundance.”
Alessandra nearly squawked at her father’s words, the man was a complete bastard.

Yana smiled, and his eyes, still on Alessandra, traveled south over her body and she quaked in silence. Sex is going to be like hell, she thought. He probably can’t even get it to work. That last thought almost made her smile. Almost.

Yana was the most celebrated war hero of Eastern Temerus, legendary for wiping out the Northern resistance by himself. No one knew how he did it, and the only proof was his word and the fact that the Northern clans had suddenly vanished. His word included a canon and poorly built tunneling systems. Either Yana was a liar, or the North was incredibly stupid. On the surface, it seemed like the latter, but Alessandra smelled a rat. Something wasn’t right.

King Jerald wanted to make an alliance between the East and the West, so he arranged a marriage between Yana and Alessandra, as the Eastern King had no sons. Alessandra wished she had been born a man, life would have been easier and she wouldn’t have to marry and sleep with crusty old men.

King Jerald held out his rings, and General Yana reached up and kissed each one, as was the custom. “I look forward to see you at the wedding tomorrow,” said the king.

“And I you,” replied Yana, politely bowing low to the floor. A guard stood on either side of him, one taking him gently by the arm, and the other one looking awkward because there was no arm on that side to hold on to, Yana had lost it in the war. Nevertheless, he stayed on that side and the two guards politely escorted the older man out of the thrown room.

The minute General Yana’s back closed behind the large bolt-covered doors, Alessandra turned to her father, seething. “How could you do this, father?”

The king remained momentarily silent and observed his daughter with ice-blue eyes. “You are a woman now, Alessandra. I must see to it that you marry the right man.”

Alessandra’s eyes widened at the man’s incredulity. Did he think her a fool? Everyone knew he was marrying her off to Yana for military gains, and for power. The right man? Yana was old and lecherous, hardly the kind of man a normal father would want his daughter to marry.

Instead of voicing her thoughts and igniting her father’s wrath, she turned on her heels and stormed out of the throne room, dreading the next day. The wedding. The day that I die, she thought miserably.

[Joannie]

Surrounded by picklebrush, Bryce crouched low behind a crumbling stone pillar in the courtyard, his patience running low. He had been waiting hours for the guards to finally thin out until only the customary watch remained, keeping silent as the itchy vines already entwined around themselves up his pant legs. Every crushing minute he cursed Julia for her constant stops and detours, as now they were caught up in the blasted wedding. He had planned the siege to take place almost a full week in advance to the event, when Yana's cumbersome company would only be trickling in. Now they were looking at the brunt force of the East, from the army to the damnable menservants, with only a night before it was too late.

He touched the chord hanging from his neck, teasing the fibers as he contemplated the next hour's occurrences. Get in, get the gal, get out--and don't get caught. Why Julia insisted on so many unnecessary pauses to plan such an adventure was beyond him; he and Ricardo were the only ones actually entering the massive manor, and it was none of her concern what they did in the event. She probably didn’t want to know anyway, being the sensitive girl she was. Only she would insist on dragging the entire Northern Clan with them, a punch in the balls even if there were only around thirty or so remaining from the raids.

Bryce clenched his fist. That goddamn fool Yana. Only scum like him would attack defenseless villages and burn the Capital down trying to kill him. If he wasn’t out visiting the devastated Southern Colonies, he would have stopped him, he could have done something. Now over half of his lands were in the hands of that bastard sitting not two hundred feet away. He was thankful Julia and Ricardo were with him at the time, that his only family left wasn’t wiped out with the rest.

Something clanked in the distance, catching Bryce’s attention from his thoughts. It appeared the watch was finally changing personal for the final shift, when only one man would stand a long vigil through the dead of night. Bryce almost felt sorry for the poor bloke, as this was going stain his memories as the most eventful, tragic night of his life—the night he past Bryce Gainsborough.

“Bry, this is it, right?” Ricardo whispered, his voice light and soft from the tree just above him. Bryce forgot sometimes how young he really was, how much pressure there was on him to constantly be depended on as his right-hand man. He moved his feet for the first time in hours, clearing his throat as quietly as he could.

“Yes. Get ready. When I give the signal, follow me, but only,” he paused, giving Ricardo a directed look, “after I give the signal.” Bryce gently moved his shoulder blades, testing for stiffness and aches. After moving each limb and muscle, he readied his stance and lunged from the bushes, pulling his broadsword from his back as he reached the top of his jump.

The young guard gaped at him as Bryce seemed to appear out of the stagnant air before his eyes, unable to even put his hand up to his mouth in shock or reach for his defensive short sword. Bryce nimbly landed on his toes and raised the hilt of his massive silver sword, bringing it down harshly on the young man’s unguarded head. When the boy clumsily fell to the cobblestone path, Bryce turned towards his previous location and motioned to the tree.

Looking down at the fallen teenage watchman, he felt another pang of sympathy for the young and hoped the lad survived after all. Even if he was a man from an enemy country, Bryce couldn’t want for him anything but a good life. He only wished Yana had the same empathy for the youths of his land.

Ricardo tapped his elbow gently, whispering, “you know, that wasn’t what Julia said to do….”

Bryce playfully thumped his younger cousin’s head, his sarcastic grin giving his feelings on what he thought about Julia’s plans. Dropping his smile, he pointed at the door with his unarmed hand and reached for the knob. Before turning it, he leaned down and muttered directions to Ricardo.

They both entered the door single file, stopping when they stood in what appeared to be the side entrance to a herb garden. Bryce could tell by the thick, blooming plumage that whoever managed the plants spent time and love with the care of the foliage. He could even recognize very useful medicinal herbs from his own personal patch back home—before it was scorched—and it was hard for him not to feel impressed by the unseen caretaker’s choice in plants. Shrugging, he dipped below a fragrant tree and hustled down the well-worn path towards the red door leading inside.

Before his fingertips touched the chilly metal of the knob, he heard muted voices coming from just beyond the door. He held up a hand to halt Ricardo and listened, carefully planting his ear next to the door in what looked like the thinnest spot.

“…and I’m sure Delamasca’s pleased with the Rotanda, not to mention your outstanding success in the North,” cooed a sinuous male voice leaking with flattery. Bryce heard laughter, followed by a voice he could never forget. It filled him with rage every time he heard the man’s name.

“It was a hard item to track down, but it proved useful in eliminating the defense force. You wouldn’t believe what kind of barbarians those men are. Even the women were snarling,” Yana spat, chuckling with remembrance. Bryce clenched his teeth, preparing to throw open the door and rip the man a new hole to defecate out of. Before he could act, Ricardo pulled on his shoulder urgently, reminding him there was only the two of them there—not a whole army to back up his brawny actions. It wouldn’t do to jeopardize the entire plan for revenge. It sure would feel good, though.

“You wouldn’t think such a powerful artifact would be this small, though,” continued Yana, seemingly contemplative.

Something clicked inside Bryce’s head, making him remember something his now deceased father once mentioned. It dealt with the legendary pendant possessing massive power, lost in the timeless tapestry of time as people relied less and less on magic through time. It’s name was the Rotanda, and it was in the clutches of the most evil-spirited man alive.

Not even the great Spirit himself could stop Bryce from crunching through the door like paper after Yana’s throat.

[steph]

The dress was hideous.

Jezzabel, Alessandra’s handmaiden, wrinkled her nose and feigned delight as she took down the final measurements, cooing her false admiration as she tugged on the pristine sleeves decorated in silver, white, and green. The colors of the West; the whole palace, the walls, the tapestries, the furnishings, had been decorated as such and Alessandra was sick of them. She rolled her eyes at her handmaiden’s phony enthusiasm and recalled the colors of the Northern resistance; black, red, and gold. The exact opposite of the Western colors. She would rather have been garbed in those. This wedding dress made her look like a tastelessly decorated celebration pastry.

“Are you finished yet, Jezzabel? My arms are ready to fall off,” said Alessandra, displeased at the chore of standing stock still in a cake-dress like a wooden doll. “I honestly don’t care what the damn thing looks like. I’m glad that you’re so dedicated to your job…But I’m going to marry a grotesque man whom I am not nor ever will be in love with. In this dress. If I could, I would disgrace him in front of his family and parade down the isle in a wooden barrel.”

Jezzabel stopped working for a moment, clearly appalled, and placed a hand over her mouth to hide its gaping. “My lady! You’ve never spoken like this before! It is highly unbecoming for a woman to speak such terse language! You should be ashamed of yourself, Yana is an honorable man.”

Alessandra stopped herself from laughing in the foolish woman’s face. Sure, Yana was honorable…If honorable meant lying about his war successes and then agreeing to marry a princess against her will and proceeding to leer at her. That’s honorable alright. Alessandra briefly wondered if he was a polygamist and had more than one wife at home. She shook the thought away; no woman could ever love that no matter how rich or powerful he was. A sharp prick of a needle brought her back to reality.

“All finished, dear.”

“Ow, you stab---”

Someone flung the door of the room open and Alessandra covered herself, making an attempt to hide the hideousness of the dress but lacked the arm mass to even mask some of the ugly. The old guard standing in the doorway, however, didn’t even blink at the monstrosity that enveloped her body. Something was causing him to tremble in his boots and Alessandra swallowed loudly in trepidation.

“There are intruders inside the palace, Yana has been attacked,” the man began nervously. “King Delamasca has given orders for you to remain safely inside this room.”

The young handmaiden placed a hand over her chest, rather like a fragile old woman. “Yana has been attacked? W-Where are the intruders?”

The guard glanced at Alessandra. “The last time I heard, was that they were in the garden…” he said slowly.

Alessandra squawked. “What!”

The garden was the only place of freedom her caged life had allowed her. In her spare time, the palace healers had taught her which plants could be used in making certain medicines and Alessandra had painstakingly sought out these plants to add to her garden. She liked the idea of helping and healing others, a bright change of the gory, death-filled scenery she had grown up with. Each plant was filled with the memories of her soothing voice and the love in which she raised them with. Nobody, not even her father touched her garden, and she’d be damned if she was going to let some intruders do it now.

Quickly, she sloughed off the bulky dress in one fluid movement, leaving her standing only in her long undergarments. Unbidden, she barreled past the old guard, knocking him off of his feet in her eagerness to get through the door.

Alessandra wondered what intruders were doing inside the palace; the enemies of the West were all dead, so it had to be a mere thief. If this thief thought he could steal her precious plants, he was in for a rude awakening. With that thought, Alessandra rushed through the stone hallways, ignoring the shouts of surprised guards as she flew past them. Suddenly realizing that it might not be a good idea to face this thief unarmed, she pulled a sword from one of the many wall hangers that adorned the passageways and continued her frenzied path towards her precious garden.

The doors to the garden were double wooden, no need of extra protection as the garden was supposed to be closed off against the rest of the palace, and no large number of enemies could get in that way. She had to hand it to this thief, he was a smart one.

The sunlight welcomed her warmly as she pried the doors open, the old wood creaking in protest from years of constant exposure to weather. The garden was empty, she noted as she looked around. Whatever thief had been in there had come and gone, and a cold fear seized in Alessandra’s chest as she realized he might have already made off with one of her rare herbs. Moving around the rows of plants, she noted with relief that nothing appeared to be disturbed, not even the rarest item in the garden. Still, she walked between each rows just to be sure, and her bare foot hit something solid lying on the ground and she flinched. She bent down to check and, to her horror, discovered a body.

Yana was dying; he was suffering a stab wound--really more like a gaping hole--in the middle of his chest and Alessandra wondered how he managed to still be alive at this point. “General! If you can still speak, I need you to tell me what happened.” said the princess urgently.

Yana opened his mouth, a gurgle followed and then sputtering as he spit up gobs of blood. “Gainsborough…” he finally managed to say, his eyes holding hers for a moment and then rolled into the back of his head.

Alessandra frowned, pulling his hat over his eyes to hide his unseeing stare. A sudden fear gripped her as she realized she had made a mistake. This was no thief, this was an assassin, a brutal murderer. Why had she ignored the guard’s warning and left the room? She was surely going to be killed…

A rustle of leaves captured her attention and her eyes found the source of the noise. Another young guard had emerged from a large bush, his large brown eyes round and his flesh quaked in fear. Alessandra’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what happened.”