AOL File Library: 11,000 to 11,999/11000.zip/AOLDLs/Fiction 1/The Indian Princess/Excerpt.txt

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                     EXCERPT OF THE INDIAN PRINCESS

                                PROLOGUE


ONCE THERE WAS A LEGEND THAT A GREAT EVIL WOULD COME OVER THE EARTH.
AFTER MANY BATTLES WITHIN HERSELF, A YOUNG VIRGIN WOULD STAND UP FOR HER
RESIGNED PEOPLE TO GIVE THEM HOPE AGAIN.
SO THROUGH HER OWN LIFE, SHE WOULD GIVE THEM FREEDOM.
IT WOULD NOT SAY HOWà
IT DIDNÆT SAY WHENà
BUT ONE DAYà
IT HAPPENED.

FROM THE DIARY OF VICTORIA KENT, THE PRINCESS OF FINLAND.

ôApril 10, 2062.
The year of the millennium was the most unforgettable year of my life. It
was a year of murder, of torment, but the most passionate love that rocked
the world that I have ever to witness, and somehow, it has been forgotten,
going down only in my memory. For the truth of this story I can appeal to
the testimony of my daughter, to whom I have revealed the story in full.
This story is thought as myth, but really is fact. When soldiers of Zealand
came upon a recently abandoned boat rental shack in the search of their lost
and unknowingly newly dead king and queen; they found in its files this
mysterious and peculiar entryù

-September 15, 1981-
Motor boat rental 182024
STATUS: Not yet returned.

ôIn this story lie the secrets and truths of my family, but most of all my
dear sister Kelea, Queen of Zealand, the Princess of the Cheyenne Indians.ö
(Signed) Victoria Jane Catherine Kent OÆConnor,
Princess of Finland

ôThe sun smiled on the most beautiful day in the history of my country. It
shone in the sky climbing higher and higher till it came onto the top of the
world. The day was green, luscious with colorful flowers on which the
morning dew brightened to its fullest illumination. The sun stretched out
its rays, warming and fluffing the clouds and sky. It was a day you want to
keep going on for weeks. The kind of day you want to roll up and keep for a
keepsake forever. A day when my brother Darien was not yet King; but Crown
Princeàö

                              *  *  *

The two young teenagers stood in front of the fuming handsome irate man in
front of them, glancing at the door of their flimsy home made of rough mud
bricks that was one of several dozen beside it. None of the coming and going
villagers noticed, or stopped to watch, this was the chiefÆs matter, no
more. In the village, the father was emperor, king, and president of his
home. Children yielded to their wise decision, and obeyed without question,
if the parents were lucky.
The hanged heads, and clasped hands showed the shame of the brother and
sister as they dejectedly listened to their fatherÆs lecture. The damp hair
and clothes clung to thier heads and bodies, and the cool brisk late
afternoon breeze that was at that moment whistling through the trees at work
for the cool nighttime air, did not help the shivering pair as their arms
circled around them for warmth.
Tristen Sweetwater wished more than ever that he had followed the usual
procedure gloomily as he stared down at the toe of his sneaker, and rubbed
it in circles at the dirt. His fingers unexpectedly grazed across his bare
back and he dared a glance at his equally bowed sister, then at his cut off
jeans and sandals, and silently fiddled with the dream catcher around his
neck. Usually, he stood guard for his sister when they went to swim, but the
day had been so nice, the river so blue... how could he resist but join in
the swim? How was he supposed to know his father would pick hunting in that
area today of all days?
He had no doubts they were in serious trouble, for this time they broken a
village rule. The small lake in the cove under the cliff that lead out to
the ocean was strictly off limits. But swimming and jumping the little waves
were so fun, and then laying your freezing body on the sun-baked stones,
feeling the warmth seep through your body were too tempting to resist. He
neednÆt to add that swinging out on the cleverly hidden swing they and the
other village children had installed nearly eight years ago was one of the
few thrills on the island.
ôI think you both need your heads examined!ö Zopel Sweetwater, Chief of the
Cheyenne Indians of the Isle of Epsilon stamped his foot for the third time,
folding his muscle corded arms and legs thick as tree trunks. His nose
flared in anger as his probing black shiny eyes glared down at his blond
adopted daughter, and his natural son, letting them know in no uncertain
terms that he was anything but pleased with them. He was about his fiftieth
year or thereabouts, with handsome angular hard-cut aristocratic features
even more sharply defined because of livid rage, but he relaxed his arms to
push some black gray streaked strands of hair out of his eyes and into place
on his head. He wore his black hair shorter than all the men, just below the
nape of his head and a tiny rubber band held it back from his face in a tiny
fish tail and ZopelÆs jaw shook violently as he vented his rage at them. He
couldnÆt bear the thought, it was not to be borne. His daughter naked in
front of the village!
Kelea and Tristen stood silent with lowered eyes as they listened to their
fatherÆs tirade. He was a chief, and looked it, and his very image demanded
respect.
ôI never saw the like! I just canÆt believe itù my daughter, naked for the
entire world to see! You embarrassed me in front of the whole tribe! Why, oh
why am I tortured with such destructive disgraceful scandalous children!ö
Zopel lectured mournfully, slapping a hand to his forehead.
Kelea Sweetwater, Princess of the Indians took a step forward to protest,
but however, in meekness that was not like her, shut her lovely mouth. Zopel
looked sharply at his adopted daughter as she rubbed at the dirt streaks on
her face with a free hand, head still bowed, and realized that what his
mother had said the week before was right. He felt like it hit him in the
stomach with the force of a trainù He had woken up and found she was a
womanù He didnÆt know her!
She stood before him, cowered like a helpless animalù an exquisitely pretty
but filthy urchin with long very light blonde hair that flowed easily in the
wind, but usually stringy, because she took no time for her appearance. She
was a scruffy dirty thing, dripping with salty seawater that was turning the
dirt to puddles at her feet making them even dirtier. He watched her
ruefully survey the seawater damage at her light doeskin tanktop and
loincloth that would sadly never be the same again. They had put the clothes
too close to the water, and naturally had gotten soaked.
Zopel looked fascinated down her legs, focusing on the beaded anklet strung
around the race-horse thin ankle. The potential of exquisite beauty was
overwhelming. Her budding body had the curves of a woman with long legs and
beautifully shaped breasts enhanced by the scruffy skin clothes she
persisted on wearing despite the second hand cotton and linen Western
clothes in the stocked full barrels from charities in the meetinghouse.
Kelea saw the look on her fatherÆs face and quickly took advantage of it.
Swiftly she tried to explain. Zopel had not understood. They were
celebrating TristenÆs coming to age ceremony that occurred a week ago. She
would never have disobeyed FatherÆs orders on purpose. However, Zopel had
given Tristen permission to swim one hour in the lake as a special treat.
Tristen had wanted to go today since it was so nice out, but was not allowed
to unless she was with him, and Father was understandably too busy with
hunting for food, since it was scarce, so she had decided to take him.
ôYou have bathing suits.ö Zopel reminded her.
Tristen jumped in, ôAh, but Father, you have absolutely no idea how
wonderful the water is this time of year. There is nothing better than to
swim butt naked in the sea!ö
Zopel raised his eyes. ôSwim what?ö
ôUnclothed.ö Tristen amended.
It didnÆt matter, Zopel responded, shaking his finger at them, noting it was
almost time for dinner. They knew the law, and they had to pay for it. Laws
were there for a purpose, there were sharks in the water, and they could get
seriously hurt, and if they did, how could he live with himself? The Indian
chief scolded his son again, he would be the leader of the village one-day,
and he must set a good example for the children. Sweat glistened from the
sun in his sneakers, jeans and nothing but a decorated Indian leather vest,
as Zopel raised the symbol of his leadership, a ceremonial ku-stick
agitatedly. The vibrant colors of the stick flashing in the sun, glistening
on the feathers and beads as the chief shook it towards the poor
fourteen-year-old.
Anger brimmed up in Kelea, as she saw the young handsome boy who always was
laughing and teasing her mercifully, blanche a bit, a frightened look in his
eyes, fighting off tears. Her brother took a step back in fear of the big
staff, but the long black bangs that had fallen free from the braid fell
over his eyes and he tripped over the forever untied shoe strings she warned
him against every minute. Unable to bear it,   she acted instantly, stepping
in front of them, putting herself between her brother and her father.
Tearing it out of his hands she lifted it over her head and hefted it for
her knee. Instantly, with a mighty CRACK it broke in two.
Raising it in a mighty arc, Kelea threw the ku-stick with all her might into
the trees, repeating hysterically with tears running down her cheeks, ôDonÆt
you hurt him! HeÆs only a child! A child canÆt be a child always having to
worry about rules and soiling his clothes. He couldnÆt!ö She stamped her
foot and shook her fist in the sign of a command. ôHe cares too much! He
fears you too much! He wants to be a man, but youÆre not there to show him
how!ö In a fit of anger she leaped forward, her knife in hand, the deadly
blade slashing across one arm, and the small fist landed her father in the
stomach so hard that Zopel, Chief of the Indians, legendary for his agility,
stamina, and leadership did what any man would do.
In a comical tragic moment, the Indian Chief teetered on balls of heels, his
mighty corded arms shot out flailing helplessly, and then came the deep dull
thud as the great weight landed in the mud puddle, clothes instantly seeing
better days.
It was pure poison as Zopel ruefully got up and brushed himself off with a
look of death directed at his daughter. It was deadly as he finally spoke,
ôI think itÆs the solitary unit for you, missy.ö
Kelea stammered, ashamed beyond anything, ôFather... IÆm sorry...ö
Zopel cuffed his son, cutting off imminent future defense. ôGo train whelp.ö
he growled with impatience, throwing his new gunù his present for coming of
ageù sailing through the trees, sending the boy off after it.
Tristen hung his head. ôYes, Father.ö He said humbly, leaving in a rush,
ever so glad to be dismissed, deciding to go cheer his spirits with his
harmonica on top of the roof of the meetinghouse and lodge. The soft pat pat
of his sneakers and rustling of plants heralded his departure. The squawks
of the little chimps in the trees overhead was a welcome diversion to the
lone girl shivering again as she tightened her arms helplessly around her
waist.
ôFather... IÆm sorry, I was out of line.ö Kelea again hung her head,
squeezing her eyes shut for the punishment. She must apologize, she had to,
but ohù she hated admitting she was wrong. Oh of all the most rotten luckù
why must she always fly off the handle?  What would happen now? Severe
discipline seemed to be FatherÆs answer for everything; he was so big on it.
ôYes you were.ö Zopel admitted, glancing above him, then raised his voice to
irritably announce to his watching people that the show was over. The
chattering commenced, the soft slap slap of bare feet and shoes reinstated,
and the sounds of getting dinner and the smell of cooking filled he air.
ôYou have a quick temper like me girl, and you need to learn to control it,
or youÆll be in real trouble one day. And it does not help matters that you
lure Tristen into such childish acts. He is your younger brother! You and
you alone must set an example for him.ö Zopel lectured. ôKelea, stop to
think once in a while what you do!ö
The princess hung her head, saying he was too hard on his son, to which
Zopel reluctantly agreed. ôPerhaps, perhaps.ö He relaxed, frowning at his
adopted daughter.
ôI know my brother wants to please you, if you would trust him.ö Kelea said
softly, her voice a charming sound in their native language, Cheyenne.
ôYou coddle the boy, daughter.ö
But Tristen was only fourteen, Kelea criticized him, her gestures marking
her pleas as her fatherÆs eyes flicked from her to her grandmother behind
her who was wanting Kelea for something and calling her to help with supper.
Slowly he held up a hand to Tallullah as his daughter went on.... A young
man needs a father, she could not give that to him! He was only fourteen,
and her brother. A little feminine influence couldnÆt hurt him.
That made Zopel snort beyond restraint with laughter, at the thought. Kelea?
Feminine? The poor demented fool was no more feminine than a pig was.  At
his laughter, her face fell crestfallen, and her spirits died as Zopel let a
long sigh, ôYes child, and you would do well to remember that he will not
take place of a grandchild, no matter how much you try to avoid it. Let it
be known that I do know your age and your duties to keep on the family name.
It is high time you were given to a man.ö
Kelea looked at the floor. She was sixteen, past acceptable age for
marriage. She was of great value as an accredited healer and midwife in the
village, apprenticed to her grandfather, the villageÆs healer and shaman,
and she was the chiefÆs adopted daughterù another important position. ôYes,
Father.ö She murmured, with tears welling in her eyes.
This was the year nineteen hundred and ninety six, why must her life be so
backward? She heard that all over the rest of the world there were women who
married at forty, women who never married at all, women who took control
over their own lives. Compared to the mainland, living at Epsilon was like
living in the turn of the century. In fact there wasnÆt a single telephone
line in the island nor working plumbing pipe, the latter that had corroded
and burst two years ago. Not that they needed one. The princess felt that
the less they had to do with the outside, the better. But when she read
articles of plastic surgery and cloning, and cellular phones smaller than a
credit card, it still hurt.
ôCome here, daughter.ö Zopel held out his arms, the hard glint on his face
falling away. A smile then crossed the Indian PrincessÆs face with delight
at the offered affection. She ran into her fatherÆs outstretched arms,
sighing in contentment as the big strong arms surrounded her, squeezing her
tight. Safe... Safe...
TallullahÆs voice called again, bringing the sounds of the hustle and bustle
of suppertime to life. The chattering of the women in their T shirts and
jeans and plaid dresses, the sound of flawed steel pots and pans over
outdoor mudbrick pits (for the camp had no electricity or stoves) come to a
reality. Unwillingly, the princess stepped away from the embrace and stood
with a bowed head before her father.
Zopel dropped a big kiss onto her hair. ôAll right, you dirty urchin, go
help your grandmother now.ö As his daughter ran off for his mother, and both
the older and younger woman disappeared together into his parentsÆ mud brick
home, the very dirty Indian Chief muttered an oath as he turned and pointed
his loafers in the direction of the river to wash the mud off. Maybe IÆll
start the marriage offers tomorrow.

                             *   *   *

Laughter filled the enormous great hall full of people, full of food, full
of merriment. The music of the room was gay and warmed her blood, making it
pound with the exciting rhythm. Waiters dressed in black and white with
white gloves mingled through with silver trays on their hands, offering
little delicacies to the crowd, as they talked in low tones, oblivious to
the young girl beside them listening intently.
Kelea looked down at herself, the gorgeous dress of spun gold that framed
her small delicate frame exquisitely, the most beautiful dress she had ever
seen in her life, the dainty jewelry that adorned her neck, adorned her
ears, adorned her wrists of the hands at her side.
Slowly, she cruised through the crowd of mingling people dressed up as
fancily as she was, staring with open wide astonishment at the jewels of the
women, the elegance of the men, the sparkling wine and delicious food, the
exquisite decorations.  She felt as if she would never lose the look of
amazement on her face, and strangely, felt comforted, and at home in this
setting. She accepted a flute of wine from a distinguished gray-haired
server, and pushed through an extremely obese woman, and a very short man
talking to a young pretty girl no olwder than herself, to a handsome oak
staircase with a middle banister, with a clock at the landing.
Slowly Kelea looked down at the glass, lifted it to her mouth and took a
sip...
ôCome to meàö A high rich melodic voice echoed as if an empty church and
before she could blink, all the eyes of the party-going crowd were on her.
Not again.... Kelea gasped, and whirled around in surprise. The wineglass
slowly tumbled from her fingers and miraculously landed whole on the ground,
the light Chardonnay spilling cheerfully onto the marble floor.
Her eyes met eyes the color of the soft light blue sky, and her stomach
dropped as a man strolled into the light, descending the stairs, and his
hand was outstretched to her. ôCome.ö His intense eyes bore into her skin,
almost making her jump again.
GodÆs blood, he was beautiful. Black hair strong and wavy, with tan skin,
teeth whiter than milk His body was tall and fit, and his shoulders and arms
positively bulged with muscle. He moved with sleek animal-like grace that
aroused her, and his well-shaped lips made him the more sensual. He was
dressed in clothes fine, a ribbon across his chest, a crown too adorned his
fine head of hair.
ôCome.ö He said again as he descended to the middle of the stairs, hand
still outstretched, fingers gesturing toward her with impatience, his eyes
were full of desire, imprisoning her.
Kelea could only stare at him helplessly.
ôKelea!ö The voice commanded.
Kelea hesitated, unsure of what to do.
ôGodÆs blood, Kelea.ö Sighed the man, amused as the light glinted off his
black hair and his mischievous face. ôBy all the troublesome...ö His eyes
snapped, commanding obedience and his fingers snapped, index finger
beckoning toward her. ôCome to meàö
Kelea cast a glance about the room doubtfully.
ôKelea now!ö
All right! She wanted to exclaim. Keep your pants on. IÆm coming. Two men
parted to give her room, bowing low with a whisper as she approached the
stairs. She mounted and climbed toward him gracefully, steadily as the man
watched her, breathing more heavily with each step she took. It was obvious
he was quite taken with her.
ôYes, come to me, my love. I canna let you go.ö
He sighed with relief as she reached out and put her hands in his as he ran
a hand over her face, and then rubbed a thumb over the palm of her hand,
before he deftly put her arms around his neck. Then it happened; the best
moment of her life as the mystery man lowered his head and took her mouth in
a breathless kiss that touched her dark soul and made her knees buckle.
Suddenly she felt something: pleasure, a womanÆs special pleasure deep in
her loins unfurl and uncurl and race through her body white hot and
dangerous. She wanted to scream, and surrender at the same timeà
Her world began to shake, and she gaped in disbelief at the cruelty.
ôNo, my queen!ö The manÆs eyes widened with panic and he clutched her
tighter, ôYou cannot leave me!ö
She could only stare at him, and then she couldnÆt breath, and began to
choke as she was torn from the depthsà

ôWake up, Kelea!ö Napa shook her awake furiously hand over her mouth to
cover her screaming. ôYouÆre dreaming. Stop screaming girl!ö
With a final scream pulsing from her throat the poor girl bolted upright in
bed, breathing hard as she tried to get a grip on her nerves, the panic
rushing though her. At once she was in her grandfatherÆs arms, his fingers
stroking her back despite muck sweat all over her body, and the old man made
crooning noises over her as he rocked her in his arms, listening with a
breaking heart to her sobs. Her grandfather was a strong man, set in his
opinions. She could imagine the great Apollo he must have been from the
straightness of his back, unwrinkled face, the gentle smile that soothed her
many times. No one knew exactly how old he was, probably about eighty, or
seventy but it certainly didnÆt seem like it. He went around with the
vitality of a forty-year-old man, quick, fast and agile, and still could
hold his own in a fight.
At KeleaÆs sniffling, the old man leaned back to smooth the hair from her
damp face. ôAh, child.ö The old wrinkled face and soft white hair of her
beloved grandfather looked down at her with concern. ôThe dream again?ö
The old blanket serving as a cover in her private back door blew gently due
to the cool early morning breeze.
She glanced around the dingy tiny room in which carved bamboo furniture was
sparse. There wasnÆt much to show for a lifetime. Only a rocking chair, the
wall where she hung knives, a long rapier, ropes, two outmoded guns,
bullets, and gunpowder. Against the other wall lay a table where she laid
all the most necessary tools of her trade as a healer and midwife in the
village. There was a stethoscope, thermometer, fresh unmixed herbs, mixing
bowls, and spoons, readied medicines neatly packaged, a few books on healing
and anatomy, special instruments and notes of procedures.
In the corner was the tiny closet where she stored the few clothes she had,
shorts, jeans, shirts, and other clothes such as gowns made in the Indian
fashion. Sandals, one pair of moccasins, sneakers, pair of soft snakeskin
half boots although she preferred barefoot, liking the grass between her
toes, and her feet were hard as rock. She preferred wearing the leopard,
zebra, and deerskin tanktops and skirts that looked like loincloths however,
because it allowed more freedom to move, and blended with the landscape in
case of trouble.
The old metal lantern her grandfather held in his hand cast eerie shadows
about her tiny room, illuminating the crate she used for a night-table by
her cot, with another metal lantern beside it. Shivering in the usual early
damp chill of mornings, she drew her bedcovers closer to her, observing that
he was shivering also, with only a thin old covering draped across his
shoulders.  ôIÆm sorry to disturb you, Grandfather.ö She said quickly.
ôYouÆd best hurry back to bed before you catch cold. I didnÆt mean to be
such a bother.ö
ôIt is no bother, child, to be of assistance in such a torment. ö Napa said
softly in his quiet way, scooting to the middle of the bed.
Kelea threw her arms over his neck and hugged him in a scared little girl
way. She confessed she had it again, and she was scared more than ever, what
could it mean?
Napa gently touched a lock of her hair and searched for an answer other than
the one that he knew deep in his heart. Kelea was ready for the truth of her
origin and that was the truth of it; she was as restless an ant and needed
to settle down. Personally he thought it was far past time his revengeful
granddaughter forgot this revenge foolishness she insisted upon.
The princess had come to them when she was two as an orphan of murdered
parents. He had not advised it at all when his son Zopel finally changed his
decision and told the then eleven year old Kelea that her parents had been
murdered by white men from the mainland. Over a period of two years there
had been no change in the girl, but then at twelve, she began blaming the
entire white race openly, calling them dogs, and Napa witnessed his loving
open granddaughter change into an unpredictable nasty violent young woman.
Finally a year later came the climax, when Kelea, in a secret even from him,
lead the fired up youths in a raid against a tiny seaport on Tarzania,
slaughtering unmercifully, bringing home much needed food and clothes they
should have gotten from the government of Zealand.
His son had not been able to punish her, not when the relief brought much
joy. Labeled as a hero, in need of supplies, Zopel reluctantly let Kelea
raid the average of three towns a year since then, using their own guns, and
explosives stolen in the raids. She was a terrorist, a butcher and she
damned well knew it and reveled in it, basking in the white blood that
flowed at her feet.
Her own kind! NapaÆs nose flared at the memory of the bloodied youths and
the shrieking orders of his granddaughter to kill them all. Talk about an
oxymoron! She was a white woman herself! An enemy of the very people she was
kin to.
It was very funny. Napa laughed out loud, and his hand slapped down on the
thin cotton coverlet.
ôI really donÆt think itÆs that funny!ö His granddaughter pulled her
beautiful mouth into a lovely pout, ôI canÆt believe you laugh at the
thought of my sadness in the morning.  Well if misery appeals to you...ö
Kelea folded her arms as the old man laughed again and shook his head,
apologizing as his eyes again scrutinized her features, in time to the sound
of the wind-chimes gently tinkling in the breeze. Again he felt a twinge of
sorrow at the sight of her as he thought, I want you to be happy, know what
it is to love and be loved in return.
ôOh donÆt frown so, Grandfather!ö Her laughing voice tinkled as she leaned
forward and kissed the thin papery skin, patting it fondly, ôYouÆll get old
before your timeùYou stare at me as if youÆve never seen me before. I should
think that my face should be a familiar one by now.ö Her bright smile held
his gaze as her young smooth hand covered his old wrinkled one.
However NapaÆs mouth pulled down, the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and
he slowly patted her hand, and stood up walking for the door. Kelea was
concerned at his silence, it was true that her grandfather was very wise,
and he never was rude unless there was something troubling on his mind. She
put out her hand to halt him, ôSomething troubles you, sir. What is it?ö
Napa smiled gently; just a dark thought, he murmured softly in the silence,
it will pass. Kelea had no reason to be concerned. What a laugh, he thought,
the laughter ringing hallow in his stomach. After all what could he tell
her? Tell her that he was afraid that she would never heal, afraid she would
be caught and punished for her shocking crimes, afraid she would never
accept who she was, afraid she would never find her soul mate.
What could he say that he knew someone was there to love her as a woman,
that he saw this person, he knew who he was, he watched over him in his life
that was as complicated as hers. What should he sayù Oh, dear granddaughter,
love was waiting out there for you to find, and itÆs up to you. Your lover
and soul mate is near and will enter your life very soon. Can the island
compete with the pleasure a man can give you and comfort of a child of your
own? Is the wild enough? Why donÆt you give it up this foolish genocide, go
to the mainland, find him and love?
The Indian Princess sighed with relief when her grandfather said, ôThe
important thing is how did you feel this time?ö
The question surprised her. ôI felt like a wife of a king!ö She slapped her
head in a tired gesture with a groan. Her pale pallor and wide frightened
eyes with black bags underneath from lack of sleep made her seem like a
abused little waif. ôIÆm being ridiculous! Like I could ever be a real
queen.ö The princess hopped off the pillow. ôCould you just see it? Me, a
queen! WouldnÆt that be a hoot? He isnÆt even real.ö
She expected him to laugh out loud. But instead, after a silence in which he
looked at her in a way that both scared and angered her, the old medicine
man and shaman of the Indians, straightened his shawl a bit, folding his
hand slowly, looking hesitantly down at them, said mysteriously, ôWho knows?
Maybe someday you will be the wife of a king. And the mother of one.ö Napa
had always secretly thought that she would be an excellent queen, with her
show-me attitude, imperious air, and gentle manner, he could see her on a
throne, wearing a crown with regal dignity. The fact of the truth of her
birth proved it even more. He hadnÆt dared tell anyone about KeleaÆs true
parentage, not even his own son.
Kelea looked up at him startled. How could he ever know her most secret
desires? How could he know that... that... gorgeous man for a white man was
a king in her dream? Was he just simply humoring her, tapping into her
wildest fantasies or was he really serious; the rumors true that he was a
seer of the future with a skill much better than hers, as she had the gift
of seeing a personÆs heart. Her grandfather had always discouraged her fear
of it, telling her to develop the gift, but she had never tried. ôWhy,
Grandfather.ö Her perfect lips dimpled into a smile. ôI think you know
something.ö She unwittingly waited for him to answer, lost in her own
thoughts of the plans of the next raid, this time at Zealand, to force the
bastard king to live up to his promises in the treaty and get food, and
clothes for the tribe.
There was not any.
ôYes and perhaps then I can have them all...ö The princessÆs voice betrayed
her thoughts when her small hand clutched the covers as thoughts raced
through her mind. Yes, yes... Perhaps it was time now to dare a strike at
Zealand... Yes, that was a good idea... perhaps at the port town right next
to the capitol would be ideal. The governor of the province lived there,
despite the capitol, if they kidnapped him, killed his staff, planted a
makeshift bomb; courtesy of the bombing books theyÆd stolen two raids ago...
Napa said nothing, looked at his silent granddaughter, just eyeing the
glimmer in KeleaÆs dark blue eyes alerted him. It could only mean one
thing... she was planning to raid a town again. More families destroyed,
more lives taken, more thievery. The old medicine man was through with it
all. He had told his granddaughter time and time again, he washed himself of
the whole thing. He frowned, folding his arms. ôYouÆre raiding again, arenÆt
you? YouÆve already set it up.ö
The princess just gaped at the old man, the light from the lantern creating
eerie shadows across his weathered face. She quickly had to turn away, for
she couldnÆt see his face, focusing instead on the small June-bug crawled
across the threadbare coverlet, and with pink tipped fingers and shuddering,
picked up the insect gingerly and dropped it on the floor. The sharp voice
not her own was bitter as she bit out her resentment of broken privacy. Napa
had been following her, she cut out angrily, how typical!
Two gruff steps brought the old man back to her bed, and the princess
winced, ready for the lecture. So much she wanted to say, okay, okay, save
the sermon for Sunday. But she didnÆt dare, for there was strict rules of
respect in front of older adults. Napa grabbed her by the shoulders and made
her look him in he eye. This time, he had lost it completely and in a soft
threatening voice told Kelea he didnÆt care if food and clothes were scarce,
but he would not let her bring this family down.
At his granddaughterÆs scowl, he knew that her mind was unchanged. She set
her chin in the stubborn defiance that was one thing that he loved about
her, tossed back the covers, swinging her feet over to the bed, fingers
rigidly closing over the metal rim. ôI know your feelings on the subject.ö
Napa was seriously giving up. He had been patient, he had been kind and
understanding, he had told the princess many times, and it was to no avail.
If she was determined to go down this road, Napa knew that even if he moved
heaven and earth, it wouldnÆt stop her. ôYou knowù I should turn you in! If
you were caught, itÆd serve you right for you to be raped by a white man.
Maybe itÆd make you take a look at the people youÆre killing off.ö
He saw the disbelief at the pain of his words on her stricken face as his
granddaughter stood up from the cot, wincing at the jagged metal that bit
into her skin. Her intense pretty face was contorted and flamed with anger
at his devastating words. He wanted her to die, she thought as her whole
body trembled with fear at the thought and with impotent fury and rage. When
her bare feet hit the floor she angrily stamped her foot, breathing heavily
before she reached down and heaved her bed over her shoulders, throwing it
against the sod wall. ôLet them try it. IÆll die before they take me!ö She
shouted savagely. ôI would rather die a thousand deaths than let one of
those fat sneaky filthy beasts touch me!ö
Napa instantly put his hand on his granddaughterÆs arm to comfort her,
apologizing, he was so sorry, it was out of line, he hadnÆt meant it, not
really, let them call it Pax. But the princess of the Indians was not to be
consoled as hysterical as she was, almost in tears and rage. The slap of her
bare feet on the dirt floor was nervous as she strode around the room,
twice, before she passed his side, her eyes blazing red-hot fire, storming
her venom.
WasnÆt it enough that those filthy dogs had killed her family and orphaned
her, making her dependant, wasnÆt enough that she had no real idea who she
was, no identity at all, so that she now must have the terrifying
aggravation of facing rape at their hands? The plundering white wolves
deserve to die painful horrible deaths, all of them. Those pigs could come
any time they liked, let them try to take her. Let them try. White men!
Pigs! She spat on the floor in contempt to make her point in front of the
shaman.  Bastard whoresons!
ôKelea, that is unkind.ö The shamanÆs gentle rebuke made her feel her shame.
ôPerhaps you should go to the mainland. You might meet this man there. Give
it up this stupid mission now, before itÆs too late.ö
ôAre you insane!ö His granddaughter gasped, sitting on her homemade bamboo
rocking chair on the fair wall. She had not realized how powerful a weapon
the dream was to him to make her give up her mission. ôGive it up, I canÆt
believe IÆm hearing this! What about my parents! What about their killer?ö
ôThey would agree with me!ö
ôItÆs out of the question! For a white man! I will never give it up for a
man. Never! Share a bed with those filthy... it wonÆt be toleratùö Her rage
sent her into a bout of choking fits, and she clapped her hand to her
throat, dipping her head until it passed. A man who didnÆt exist, except in
her dreams. Never! Never!
Napa sighed, putting his hands on his hips. Slowly he rubbed the back of his
neck with a hand as he looked down at the floor and put a hand on the
doorjamb of the other door. This was an old tune, hashed and rehashed a
million times, and nothing was done. Slowly he looked at the red-faced
princess who stood in the middle of the clean dirt floor. ôThis part of your
life is over, Kelea. Just let it goàö
ôItÆs that dream isnÆt it? I knew I should never have told you it. It was a
mistake to tell you.ö
ôTheyÆll find out one day.ö He growled; a trait unlike him, but more like
his son. ôYouÆll be caught and gutted, and by God, youÆll deserve it. ItÆs
got to stop.ö
ôOh donÆt talk such tripe, you wonÆt turn me in, and I know that as much as
you do. WhatÆs lawful and just will not be stopped.ö There was more to her
words, a sincere conviction and the old man knew it.
Napa shook his head ashamedly. ôYou bloody lunaticà.ö He could not go on
without blaspheming. He had it. Grabbing the lantern, he exited the room,
closing the door behind him as the princess stood in the middle of the tiny
room, still red in the face, and in a bad mood. Another gust of wind blew
through, making her pull her arms closer around her to the heralding of the
chimes hanging outside. She looked around once, biting her lip, wishing she
could be rid of this anger, and this hatred. It hurt her to live through it,
and hurt her even more to see the dearest person she lovedù her grandfatherù
hurt as well. How could she? She had to go through it alone, she hadnÆt
anyone else to ask. She was afraid she couldnÆt conquer the demons inside,
afraid she would die a murderer. A murderess at thirteen....
In a flash moment of decision, the Princess of the Indians squeezed her eyes
shut, crossed two dirty and ratty jaggedly broken nailed fingers and prayed
that these devils be driven out of her, that she could stop those horrific
crimes. She needed help, she needed the strength to get rid of her
revengeful nature. As she did this, the tinkling of the chimes were louder
and more intense than ever, a gust of wind picked up the stray tresses of
blond hair as shadows of light crossed her face.
She went to the outer door, and by habit, lifted the weathered blanket. A
new day was dawning, the streaks of gray and pink stretched across the sky
at the chattering of the birds. Dew washed away the evidence of the previous
day, making all the flowers and plants shine brightly anew.  Suddenly she
couldnÆt bear to waste the day further. Quickly in the wild decision, the
princess stripped off her nightgown, rendering her naked, slipped on
intimate garments and donned a black tank top with short shorts and slipped
on a pair of old streaked black half boots. Grabbing her gun and one knife
off the wall as she passed, she strode outside, into the village square,
breathing the fresh air once, twice, looking around, before she put two
fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly.
Yelping instantly commenced, coming louder and louder before two huge grown
beautifully marked twin wolves bounded into the square and leapt on her,
licking her face enthusiastically, as she laughed wholeheartedly, flinging
her arms around their warm bodies, giving each one a kiss as they yapped
their contentment. Embarrassed, she tried to shush them, afraid they would
wake up the village. She had four pets, the wolves, a squirrel, a horse and
a hawk named Dermin. Pushing the wolves away from at the sound of a whinny
and clicking hooves, she reached out, patted the mane of her wild white
horse Ameka, and mounted. Then spurring her on, the two raced for the woods,
the wolves ranging before them, yapping.
Racing into the meadow, the princess looked back at a loud kaw thundering
from the direction of the sea, but she couldnÆt see very far because this
fine morning, a long white lovely mist arose from the east. This was a good
day! Kelea reflected as she gave Ameka her head, patting her flank. The
effects of the ride helped her forget the troubling early morning conflict,
and cool down her temper, as she began to relax.  Perhaps she should make
breakfast for her father and grandfather as compensation for yesterday
afternoon. Perhaps she would stay out another hour then return and create
the morning meal.
Another caw and the sound of rustling wings heralded the arrival of a black,
brown and white speckled falcon with silver wings tips from the canopy of
the rainforest in the early hours of the morning and into the clouds. He
couldnÆt see the island, but he knew it was there, as much as any bird that
this was the warmest spot in the whole earth. He reveled in the sunÆs rays
as it beat down in his feathers.
Little Dermin had always loved flying in this part of the day, zipping
across the clouds like lightening, looking as if he was sailing on the
clouds, loving the air rustling through his feathers. He wondered if today
his human would take him hawking, and as he pondered the thought, he cawed
again for good measure, letting the world know what such a good life he had
for he loved the treats she gave him as he parted with his catch. He loved
to fly, and might as well accept it. He also loved the young girl who wooed
herself into his heart, who didnÆt try to command him, who didnÆt try to
cage him and let him come and go. She was like himù a lonely one, with an
ocean of feelings.
With a loud exciting cry, Dermin finally flew through the parted mist that
split like a veil covering a huge secret. The lovely little green island had
luscious beautiful and wild exotic rain forests, with juicy worms, he
thought appreciatively and full of all kinds of animals from kangaroos and
elephants to deer and birds. It had the most beautiful flowers and
vegetation, vines and trees, but most of all plush green and lacy ferns.
Beside the forests were the green and flowery plains and savannas that ended
in a cliff-hanging ridge that bordered a canyon.
Smoke from starting fires swirled up as the hawk flew over the village on
the edge of the meadow, he saw some humans puttering around the human
encampment as he reached the end of the village line. Dermin swooped and
dove down to the edge of the forest in a breathtaking speed. The little imp
streaked across the savanna like greased lightening, so low to the ground
that it was like he was riding on the grass. The loose grass flew away as
the falcon flewù right up onto the shoulder of his sixteen year old human
who was on her horse.
Kelea rode into the forest, the hawkÆs claws digging into shoulder for
safety. Wincing at the sharp pain, the princess promised herself to mix some
concoction to prevent disease from his claws when she finished breakfast.
The trees whizzed by, and she hefted the hawk to her arm and launched him
up. Then with a grunt, her hand hit a vine and she was brought up among the
trees.
In a art of graceful ease, she swung from vine to vine, and crossed the
waterfall where the women bathed, and continued on her way jumping from tree
to tree. She knew every inch of these woods, and if necessary could live off
them very successfully. The trees were getting sparser now, and she jumped
to the ground, running the last few feet until she stopped abruptly to the
cove.
She looked out into the horizon, watching the sun, and two birds that were
flapping away from the island into the blinding light. The waves crashed
like thunder and rolled cheerfully onto the beach on the right, and lapped
into the calm cove under the cliff.
She took a deep breath as she breathed in the air appreciatively. It was
beautiful. This world was beautiful. She would die to ensure it would stay
that way. She lay down at the edge, watching the waves roll into the cove.
ôHey!ö
Kelea jumped to her feet, and whirled around, pressing her knife at the
throat of her brother. Her muscles relaxed in relief at the grinning jock,
hands in the air with the wooden flute that he had whittled in hand. She
greeted him gladly and returning her welcoming peck on the cheek, Tristen
sat by her at the edge, watching the cove, playing on the flute a tune sheÆd
never heard before. He loves music very much, she thought as she watched
him; he doesnÆt belong here. He belongs in an orchestra playing to his
heartÆs content. But he wonÆt, because heÆs to be chief one day.
Oblivious to her scrutiny, the chiefÆs son stopped and took it out of his
mouth. ôSo what did Grandfather have say to you this morning, huh?ö
ôHe said I should get serious,ö replied Kelea, returning her gaze to the
white sandy beach below.
Tristen stopped the flute on its travel back to his mouth in midair. Then he
grinned. ôBout time.ö He said, smiling naughtily.
ôOh and also to kick the butt of cheeky braves like you.ö Said Kelea
silkily.
Tristen grinned again. ôYou know,ö observed the brave, ôIt wouldnÆt hurt for
you to think about other things, Kelea. YouÆve carried on this mission for
quite a long time.ö
That seems to be everybodyÆs assessment to this, Kelea thought, the
resentment slowly creeping up to her.
ôHey donÆt scowl at me like that, it can only hurt you more. WeÆve raided
enough towns for supplies to last for long while. WeÆve no need to continue
this.ö
The princess never wanted to beat up her brother more than now. Kelea rose
up in indignation to remind him who was the dominant sibling, cuffing him on
the head. Oh yes... she would quickly reduce Tristen to the role of the
adoring meek brother. ôBe quiet, boy!ö
ôMy, my, my, you are grumpy. But I forgive you. It must be that time of
theàö
ôTristen.ö
A low chuckle rumbled from the young man. ôYou know, when we eat with
Grandfather, how about my playing the drums? TheyÆre played in battles, but
thereÆs a similarity isnÆt there?ö
ôAnd to think I defended you to Father.ö Kelea snapped back, rousing herself
from her lean against the tree to push him unceremoniously into a bed of
grass and stamp her foot, looming over him with her hands on her hips. ôI
should have let him beat you to bits.ö
ôOh, sister, such sentiments!ö Tristen didnÆt move, black eyes mocking her.
ôAnd if this black-haired pakheta shows up, will you treat him with this
enchanting affection?ö
ôYou never forget anything you want to remember.ö Kelea whirled around in a
huff at her inability to provide a stinging comeback as the grinning
victorious sibling crowed cockily and jumped up after her. In her
disappointment, she dismissed him as a supporter of her grandfatherÆs ideals
even more because of her dream and the fact that Tristen was worse teaser
and hopeless romantic than their grandfather.
ôYouÆre not even tempted to fantasize his bed?ö Tristen was on the hunt, not
about be dismissed. ôAfter all, what if he does exist?ö
For thirteen, Tristen was shockingly mature and knowledgeable about the
world, like her. ôThatÆs none of your business.ö
A mocking smile crossed TristenÆs face. ôI believe you are tempted. Poor
sister. You want him to exist, you want to bed him, but you canÆt because it
interrupts your precious mission. ItÆs very amusing.ö
ôIÆm so glad you find it so.ö Kelea rumbled before it happened. The waves
lapped against the stones, and then there were sounds of splashing. It came
closer and closer until a small rowboat with a gang of men appeared around
the bend. They crawled to the edge of the cliff over to the cove for a
better view. It was four men rowing and three men between them with one at
the bow. They were white men. All large, and husky, and Kelea was sure, had
no good intentions.
ôBut you havenÆt answered my question.ö Tristen heckled her. ôWere you
temptù ö
His sister flapped her hands at him, and shushed him. ôWatch!ö She hissed.
The duo peered again into the ocean and lo and behold, there was a ship
anchored right in their line of view. It was large and white, with a black
stripe and pillar of smoke cheerfully rose from one of its stacks.
Kelea motioned for Tristen to be quiet and to warn their father. Tristen
gave her a hard look as he sheathed his knife and put his flute back into a
leather pouch at his waist.  Kelea shook her head impatiently and motioned
into the trees. After another warning glance, her brother took off silently
into the quietness of the forest.
Kelea got down on her stomach and watched, blond hair almost standing on
end, her eyes narrowing as she watched the men row near and nearer the
island. They were white men. And they were about to breach the island. She
felt the familiar anger and hatred for white men arise again in her. She was
driven almost insane and mad in repulsion for the human trash that was
before her. All she could see was red.
Quickly she turned and grabbed her gun, and snuck back to her perch,
watching the men row. Quieter then a mouse, she loaded it, all the while
keeping her eye on the white men. She went up on one knee, taking careful
aim, calculating the distance and the velocity. They had reached the beach
now, sloshing through the water, dragging the boat up.
They talked amongst themselves in English, which Kelea was quite fluent in,
making a ribald dirty joke every now and then. One handsome man with long
hair, the one who had bullets strung in an X across his chest, and the
biggest most modern gun Kelea had ever seen in his hand,  scanned the
landscape lazily, and without warning his eyes settled on her slight figure
looming above them.
Kelea vaulted back, startled, clutching her weapon. He spotted her! At his
shout of warning, all weapons were out, as the modern pirates searched for
the strange girl. Their shouts echoed in the cove.
Quickly as they scanned the horizon, Kelea pulled the trigger and shot the
handsome one in the arm and one of the rowers straight in the chest. The man
screamedù music to KeleaÆs earsùand toppled into the sea, still screaming in
pain, clutching his wound. There were shouts and curses as two of the men
hurried to the manÆs aid, trying to stop the bleeding. They tore off his
shirt, and then one moved in her path of sight so she couldnÆt see what was
going on. Not that she had time anyway. Rolling away from the bullets
pummeling into the ground beside her, she moved every few seconds to prevent
being shot, trying to get a shot in as often as she could.
A cracking sound filled the air as a man shot right next to her, barely
missing. Heart sick and pounding, Kelea jumped up, reloading fast as hell.
She took another aimà
She couldnÆt pull the trigger. Her finger wouldnÆt obey. No!!! It must work!
Those bastards must die!
No longer in control, arms flinging wide, she tossed the gun aside, diving
for the shrubs  for cover. She had to go to the village. She had to regroup
the men.
Two more shots rang out, but thankfully they were worse shots than that
five-year-old in the village was. She had to get out before one of those
bullets actually found a mark. She began to run away wobbly, dizzily almost
falling at every step. She felt like some one else was controlling her body
and not her. What is going on, she thought. She went around in circles
getting dizzier every minute.
Her steps widened and got more careless as she began to fall over roots,
little rocks, and logs. She stumbled over boulders and crashed against trees
and very prickly vines and bushes, almost poking her eyes out, but not
bruised. She never bruised at all, and had never been sick in her life.
Grandfather said it might have something to do with her bodyÆs makeup.
Somehow, she lost all sense of direction and headed east, into the heart of
the small mountain. She started over a patch of fallen pine branches mixed
with old leaves and froze in terror, as she remembered were she was, but not
before one last step caused the rotten boards under to gave way. A loud
resounding shriek uttered from her lips before gravity took over, making her
hurtle head over heels, falling in a flurry of arms and legs down the old
mine shaft, down that nasty inky, black abyss of a hellhole. She fell, fell,
fell for a long time until finally landed with a thud on the bottom, and
willingly gave herself up to the blackness enveloping her.

                               *  *  *

ôUh!ö Kelea woke up with a jerk and found herself in odd, unfamiliar
surroundings. As her eyes adjusted to the extremely dim light, a clean and
orderly, but roomy and comfortable brick dungeon came into focus. Why did
her wrists and ankles hurt so much?
  Now her eyes were focusing clearly, the princess observed she was chained
to the wall by old-fashioned shackles that were clamped on so tight her
wrists and ankles were chafing and very uncomfortable. The pit of her
stomach was growling uncontrollably, and if you shared Princess KeleaÆs
views on frequent and plentiful meals, a young woman who quite loved her
food, an nasty empty stomach was not at all the way to go. In fact, the
princess was an infamous tyrant if not fed good and often.
Unfortunately for a person such as the Indian princess, prison was pure hell
and agony of the first water, for a number of reasons that are quite nasty.
For instance, and not lastly, Indians never did well within walls, for their
very lives were the open doors, and freedom. Lastly, the nastiest bug yet,
unless you had the most nicest of guards, you had the barest rations of
foods, there was no outlet available to pass the time, nothing but thinking.
Soon you had a mind full on a starving stomach, there was absolutely no way
to keep from imagining huge feasts of aromatic meats, mouthwatering
desserts, steaming vegetables, and every good thing. Add that with piping
hot beverages which only leads you for craving foods you hardly have scarce
more than thrice a year. Things such as exotic cheeses, foreign dishes,
candy, ice cream, pastas, until the poor dejected creatures go insane, for
the only good dinner is an imaginary dinner wand the best youÆre likely to
get.
That thought rose the prisoner into action. The shackles chinked and creaked
unmercifully as she tried to beat it open, tried to force her hands out,
crying with distress at the pain of the chafing that was turning to blood.
Damned, she stopped the struggle, it was no use whatsoever, those shackles
were as good as the day they were cast. She raised her voice and screamed
until she was hoarse, and her ears were ringing, but it was again futile,
and she bitterly wondered if the damned place was lined with soundproof
metal.
Finally she gave up any hope of escape in desperation. It was no use, she
knew as she closed her eyes, decided to pass the time on sleeping. ItÆs all
right Kelea. ItÆs all right. She could get herself out of this just like she
had gotten out of every other sticky spot. You always have. Now stay calm!
She opened her eyes and winced at the feel and the sight of her whole body
covered in dirt. She had no cuts or bruises to speak of, but she desperately
wished for some soothing herbs and water to heal the soreness in her body.
She deserved this, she knew, and even more afraid was the princess that she
had been found out. Soldiers donÆt complain, she tried to tell herself,
gritting her teeth. Even though at the moment I feel like dying by my own
gun, IÆm a soldier, and I must take it as any other would. How she died was
as important as the way she conducted herself. She was so queer, she had
always been told, and it was quite common knowledge that queer personages
were all the unpredictable.
The inky blackness unsettled her, she was getting sleepy, and she must be on
her guard, she must rally her forces. All the light there was in the inky
black dungeon was a small glowing light bulb on the far wall. She waited
longer and it seemed like days, she was going in and out of drowsiness when
a sharp unpleasant grinding sound signaled the entrance of a stranger, and
Kelea turned her head to greet a little hunchback albino with a green and
blue eye step out of the shadows. In his hand he carried a bowl of water, a
bottle, and clean cloths.
Thank you Gods! Kelea cried silently in thanks as she watched him with eager
eyes, hoping it was for her.
A smile and a polite greeting, offered with a stiff bow came from him before
the little man shuffled over to her and began to clean the dirt she had
acquired on her skin, and the water helped re-energize her and lessen the
pain of the soreness. His touch was kind, and Kelea was certain, that for
now at least, there were no plans to kill her, otherwise there would be no
bother to clean her up. ôAnd you are?ö
ôA servant of the teacher.ö whispered the albino using the old Algonquin
word. It was the word used for a great teacher, or a mentor of great
respect, rank, and honor. The princess didnÆt know Algonquin very well, the
most of which she learned from her grandmother. It was the second language
the Cheyenne used, since it was a universal Indian language. The Cheyenne
really had no use for it since they were transferred to Epsilon Island in
1860 and they forgot most of it. Now only a few spoke it, her grandfather
included.
ôWho?ö Kelea whispered back. The very name now had meaning, bringing chills
up her spine.
ôNo one of consequence.ö Retorted the little hunchback, opening the bottle
and poured some of the contents on a cloth. He touched it to a dirt patch,
not knowing that she wasnÆt hurt, just dirty.
The scream that tore from KeleaÆs throat resonated throughout the place was
deafening, but the echo of it was pathetic. ôItÆs fire from hell! The devils
own brew!ö
ôCalm down!ö pleaded the albino, fearfully looking over his shoulder.
The woman before him calmed in slow gasps, the shackles around her wrists
shaking as she shifted her position. ôAm I to die here?ö she demanded
tersely.
The albino jerked his head up and down fast, although he had had no orders
to brief her, and in truth, wasnÆt supposed to even speak to her. ThatÆs
what always happened in the protΘgΘs of his mysterious mistress; cleaning of
the wounds; second, a bath; and then new fashionable befitting clothes
before they were brought before her. Mistress Ariel had strong eyes and a
strong nose, and very much disliked foul and unpleasant sights and odors as
much as she enjoyed her coffee.
The young woman was silent, and she was beautiful, he thought in a
breathless moment before he continued with his labors, her eyes fearfully
jumping everywhere, as if she expected an attacker to go at her any minute.
Her face was drawn and pale, and the albinoÆs stomach dropped as he saw her
bite her lip again, and her jaw set, then turn her face from him in misery.
He hated this business most passionately, it was so wrong. Snatching young
women and men from all that they knew, it wasnÆt at all the way heÆd been
taught. It wasnÆt right.
ôThen why are you bothering to cure me?ö Those fantastic eyes were on him
again, innocent fearful, and pleading, but he couldnÆt give in to her silent
pleas. He just couldnÆt. ôMy mistress always insists on her victims well
treated before the Call.ö
Was afraid of that, Kelea groaned, her unhappy posture, further upsetting
her adoring tormentor the more. She tried to draw him in conversation, but
it was again to naught, the little man kept his lips sealed as tightly as
chastity belt, probably after saying too much and afraid of the
consequences. The silence was a godsend as he continued to grimly to tend to
her so called wounds.
The grinding door opened again, this time admitting three huge but most
pleasing men, dressed in quite dashing black suits and ties, with hardened
glittering eyes, sporting guns in arm holsters at the ready. Former boxers,
to be sure, she noted, from thickness of their arms. No one would help her,
she realized then, with a touch of sadness and apprehension. Stress was
taking its toll, for she no longer cared really about what happened to her.
They approached and took the albino aside. After a very brief conference,
one of them took a key from his pocket and unlocked her shackles and chains.
ôLooks like my mistress is wasting no time.ö Whispered the albino before he
backed away from the quartet, with a saddened and angry look on his face
that he altered when the obvious leader of the trio looked in his direction.
ôWhat are you doing?ö Kelea asked in a little voice quivering in fear as the
men turned toward her. When they moved to take her arms, the poor princess
lost all sense of reality, her dread of what would be done to her solidly
fixed her mind as reality. Shrieking most heart-wrenching noÆs, æpleaseÆ and
ôPlease Godö as she dug in her heels, resisting to leave as they
successfully began dragging her across the room, she pleading for mercy,
pleading to be freed, sobbing hysterically more than she had in her whole
life. The hardened men drew her from the dungeon with the little albino, who
kept a tight caboose right behind them, a sympathetic look on his face as
the stained voice of the woman echoed this time with panic.
ôWhere are you taking me!!!ö

With another sympathetic look, after squeezing her hand, the albino left her
alone in the chilly stone corridor, the great half open doors before her,
clearly indicating what she was expected to do. Before Kelea could decide
whether or not to go in the room or turn and run like a bat out of hell, an
animated female voice called out merrily, ôWelcome, Kelea! Come in, come in,
my dear! Come in and shut the door.ö
Kelea Sweetwater had had enough with the meddlesome whites that day,
especially those mindless chits who washed her and put her in a nice halter
top knee-length blue dress that looked well on her, she must admit. Her hair
had been brushed until it shone, and until she was very fed up with the
neatly veiled orders. She washed and dressed herself in the clothes she
liked, and it would stay that way. Although, not vain personally, Miss
Sweetwater had to admit she looked quite the nicest she could remember, and
was very mindful that she looked very pretty and fashionable. However her
courage had returned after a nice long bath, and so it was then that she
lifted her nose a good three inches in the air, and prepared to flounce off.
Let the damned ômistressö summon her again if she wanted to see her.
ôOh come now, Kelea, running away?ö The laughing voice from the other room
stopped her cold as she dumbly realized the woman read her mind, and if she
did try to run, where could she go? ôCome my dear, thatÆs not at all the
thing, and I do apologize! Come, come, must I come after you? ItÆs quite
cold out there, come warm by the fire, and weÆll girl-chat.ö
Slowly, Kelea pushed the door open, and walked into a most extraordinary
room. ItÆs concave feature made her think of a warm dry cave, with the
warmth of a fire of flaming roses cheerfully burning. The floor was covered
with a carpet of intricate patterns and colors. The surprisingly comfortable
furnishings were quite respectable and serviceable and quite pleasant. Books
lined one wall, and old valuable paintings covered another. Flowers were
everywhere the eye could see, on every available space, and a nice cheery
fire blazed in the comfortable fireplace.
ôAt last, I meet the legend! I am Ariel. ö The princessÆs gaze changed to
the middle of the floor, where a young beautiful woman, no older than
thirty-eight stood when she entered, had been sitting in a slight chair by a
pretty table underneath a great crystal chandelier burning of electric
light. On the table was a crystal vase of roses, and set with breathtaking
china, hand-painted with blue forget-me-nots, blue bluebells, twisting vines
on which hung tiny bunches of grape. A china coffee cup was beside her
filled with fragrant creamed coffee.
ArielÆs smile beamed, and Kelea was too speechless to protest when she put
her arms around her in an affectionate embrace, splendid in a severely cut
fitting black suit, with a black necklace around her throat, her dark hair
regal in its French twist. But, it was her violet eyes, yes, her eyes that
overruled everything, eyes that Kelea could drown in, that made her feel
this woman knew everything about her. For the first time, the princess
squirmed, feeling mighty shame for what sheÆd done, knowing this woman held
some kind of mighty power. However, something about her made Kelea think of
a supernatural origin, the dark looks, and clothes, made an air of evilness,
or mystery that brought her thinking, was she dealing with the devil, or a
demon?
The woman in black snapped her fingers to the albino who had mysteriously
ended up at her side, and said gaily, ôRaphael, put a rush order on Princess
KeleaÆs room if you please, and do hurry. IÆm sure the Princess would very
much like to inspect her new rooms. Tomasù ö She gestured to one of the
three servants that was lined up against the wall and he moved forward with
a gentle grace to her summons. ôSome pink lemonade as soon as you can
manage. Thank you.ö
Before she could speak, Kelea beat her to it very angrily, ôHow dare you.
Taking me from my home, my family, my life, what makes you think youÆve got
the right?ö
ôYou did.ö Ariel said softly.
Kelea hesitated, then gave her head a tiny shake with a sarcastic smile. ôNo
I didnÆt.ö
ôYou need me.ö
ôNo, I donÆt.ö
ôYou prayed for help did you not? Well, help is here.ö
How could she know? SheÆd better be more careful with what she prayed for,
but Kelea Sweetwater wasnÆt about to give in, not one iota. Her hand slapped
down on the table in her agitation. ôI need nothing of the kind, and I
want...ö
The young Tomas slowly put the pitcher of pink lemonade on the table before
Ariel and she smiled, thanked him, dismissing him, with a wave of her hand.
She turned that same calm sufferance on the princess, ôYou donÆt need help,
huh? Then why did you pray? You have been a dead woman for a while now,
Kelea. Help was always there, all you needed to do was ask. It was there
when you were born. It was there while you made your first kill. And it is
still here, and IÆm here to help you.ö
ôThere is some mistake.ö The princess reluctantly accepted the glass the
woman Ariel handed her, and took a deep sip. As she drank, Ariel watched her
in rapt interest and a soft irritatingly knowing smile. ôThere is no
mistake. I know you better than you know yourself.ö
That was an insult Kelea Sweetwater couldnÆt take. She rose in a rage before
ArielÆs firm tones and dangerous eyes shot daggers at her. ôI wouldnÆt do
that.ö She warned and Kelea reluctantly sat back down.
ôMy family will looking for me.ö Kelea protested, swinging into action. She
placed her hand over ArielÆs and begged her to let her go. Ariel didnÆt know
what it was like to be torn away from everything she knew.
Ariel looked sympathetic, nodding majestically. Everything about her was
imperious, even the way her earrings dangled stately from her ears. ôYes, I
know about your family, and sadly, it couldnÆt be helped. IÆm sorry you
werenÆt able to say good-bye, IÆm sorry for the subterfuge, but I knew you
wouldnÆt be cooperative. You will make a new home here, youÆre intelligent,
resourceful, and you will adapt quickly.ö
ôSo why should I be? You canÆt force me to stay here!ö
For the first time, ArielÆs friendly face hardened in exasperation. ôYou
have no choice, but to wait, for absolution that for most people wonÆt come.
But this is yours. Listen up, IÆm not a babysitter, I am your teacher, and
youÆre going to be here for a while, so you might as well accept it. This
isnÆt a democracy; this is a dictatorship. IÆm the captain, IÆm the
superior, IÆm the queen. I make the law and the law rules around here. You
are a princess no longer. Forget everything you know until now. While youÆre
here, you belong to me. We start tomorrow, so IÆm giving you the rest of the
day to settle in, reflect, and adjust to the shock.ö
No oneÆs talked to me that way in so long... KeleaÆs mouth twitched. Ariel
calls her in, gives her orders, and expected her to obey them? She had never
been talked to that way for so long, sheÆd forgotten. But the princess was
made of way stronger, courageous stuff than the mysterious Ariel could
imagine.
The teacher watched a bit concerned as this speech washed over the young
woman sitting across from her as the princess digested this little speech.
The pretty face showed no emotion, which worried Ariel, although she knew
that inside that the Indian Princess was in a deep rage. To her relief, she
saw her lips tighten and whiten about the contours, and the long slender
fingered hands tighten and grip the cloth of the table. She was anything but
sure that the princess was submissive, and for that reason was very uneasy,
but she would give anything to know what was going on through that pretty
devious head. Perhaps trying to work out a plan to escape, but she could do
nothing but wait for her to make her move, and deal with it then.
As Kelea raised her head, she bit her lower lip. ôWell...ö She said slowly,
stretching her legs into position slowly, ever so slowly as to not attract
attention. ôThat depends.ö
Aha, thought Ariel with relief, face flushed, knowing that all along Kelea
was not submissive. Not meek at all! With my temper and her stubborn nature,
weÆre well matched. SheÆs springing her trap already! She is a clever one.
She wasnÆt too worried, for she would thrash obedience into the willful girl
one way or another and teach her meekness as she fixed her gaze on the
princess of the Indians, folded her hands prettily on the table, crossing
her legs, muscles tense and replied coolly, ôOn what?ö
ôWhether youÆre alive or not to teach me.ö The Indian princess replied, and
pounced.
It was like a drama, as the lady in black shoved the table aside, out of the
way. The delicate hand-painted pretty china plates and glasses clattered to
the floor, breaking into a hundred pieces, the roses in the vase wet with
the water in it like drops of dew, looked very smart and fresh against the
pattern of the carpet. The pitcher of lemonade flew into the air, and landed
with a loud crash, the icy liquid oozing out into the carpet.
My china... Poor Ariel made a double take, freezing for just a second,
looking wildly and sadly at the mess. She had loved that one of a kind set
dearly! Her lip trembled with sorrow. How could it be replaced? Much easier
than a human soul, she reasoned in a flash.
Kelea flew at her, ready to tear her apart, but the calmly waiting Ariel
struck, and since that time, as the princess reflected later between sobbing
and flying into rages, never had Kelea Sweetwater met a more formidable
opponent. The woman grasped her by the collar, and with two fingers pressed
between her collarbone and throat and instantly the enraged teenager could
not think, the pressure on her brain was too much, she was unable to
breathe. She was barely even able to see the flash of metal from under
ArielÆs black sleeve, and the five metal pointed circles pinned her by her
clothes to the chair so she was also unable to move as she was tied up
securely.
Ariel then pressed the very same spot on her neck, and instantly the
pressure on her brain relaxed, and it was a few seconds before she could
draw steady breaths. One of the servants who just started cleaning the mess
beside the woman in black, stopped his work and remarked that Mistress Ariel
should have been more careful, these ôjuvenile delinquentsö as he called it
were always very dangerous. This sent the dignified calm woman into fits of
laughter as she said that Kelea wasnÆt a bad kid, she just never had a
break. Then she turned to Kelea and said the strangest word.
ôShirikens!ö
Instantly the five metal circles imprisoning her dress detached and flew
toward the woman as Ariel pulled back her sleeve showing a very old looking
metal gauntlet, and the metals reattached in a perfect line along the
bracelet before thier owner jerked the sleeve back down, hiding them.
Kelea strained against the rope restraints, varying between blinding rage
and weeping hysterics. She wriggled her body, and the chair bounced under
her weight. ôYou filthy white pig!ö She screamed. ôHow dare you! My people
will kill you if you donÆt instantly release me! You understand me, you
whoring wicked vindictive....ö She went on and on cursing Ariel in all the
horrid vulgar words sheÆd ever heard.
Ariel turned to her servants. ôGag the girl. The vileness of her mouth
offends me.ö
Instantly one piece of gray duct tape was slapped across her mouth, blocking
out the crude obscene vocabulary and Ariel sat down again, waiting and
watching the princess with amusement, until she finally settled down, and
stopped cursing. ôFinished?ö
The mumbled slurred words answered, and Ariel with grim face, reached over
and tore off the tape.
ôYouÆre the devil.ö Kelea glared up at her, jaw set.
Ariel could not help laughing, although the situation had very little to
laugh about. The princess was quite entertaining. ôJust be sure to give the
devil her due, princess.ö She teased.
ôWhy me?ö Was the immediate demand.
Ariel chest contracted and she replied, ôYou donÆt understand how one person
can be so important, how their remarkable gifts and instincts they think are
nothing turn to greater than they anticipated. I am going to teach you to
use them. Well you let me?ö
Kelea looked down at the floor, refusing to look her in the eye. ôIt doesnÆt
seem that I have a choice, does it?ö
ôYes, you did have a choice, Kelea! Why do you always make the bad ones?ö
Kelea closed her eyes. ôI hate you.ö She muttered grudgingly.
Angrily the woman folded her arms, still firm, in a good imitation of her
that infuriated the Sweetwater girl if the flash of her eyes meant anything.
ôI hate you too Kelea, you hateful bastard.ö
ôThen let me go!ö
ôNo.ö
ôWhy?ö Tears began to pool in her eyes.
ôBecause I need you. Button down those lips and come off your high horse,
because the self-control part of your program starts right now!ö
ôI think youÆre a bastard. YouÆre unfair.ö
ArielÆs hand slammed angrily into the table. ôLife isnÆt fair in this world,
Princess! Anybody that says different is a fool. Life is pain, princess, and
so you will serve those you hate until you learn it. I hate you for the
woman you are. But not the woman you will become. Forget the white people.
Forget your hate. You have died and this is your rebirth, your forgiveness.
You will learn to forgive, and not be driven by will, but hope. Stop hating.
Stop desiring. To triumph over others brings no happiness. But to conquer
yourself is to know the way!ö
ôI wish youÆd go to the devil.ö KeleaÆs blue eyes spout fire as she
harrumphed again, face flushed, wishing she could be dead than endure this
torture, and she finally realized that she must give in to this woman,
insufferable as it was, but she had no other choice. And she had one glimmer
of hope, by ArielÆs reference to her a guest, and to her stay, she would one
day be free wouldnÆt she? All she had to do was take one day at a time. And
who knewù ArielÆs so called ôlessonsö might even be fun. Secondly, here she
was better off than the islandù better food, servants, more modern
equipment, a big bed... with these unexpected luxuries, who knew what would
happen.
Ariel smiled delightedly, ôThe pupil stays cheery, a very good sign. YouÆll
do fine here, Kelea.ö For the first time since KeleaÆs defiant stand, she
was aware of the cheery fire burning through this hot exchange. She laughed
sarcastically again, as she appraised the young woman on the chair across
from her through judgmental eyes, giving tiny little shakes of her head as
she observed more to herself than Kelea, ôYouÆre gonna take a lot of work.ö
KeleaÆs eyes closed and she leaned back against the rest of the chair. ôAm I
dead?ö
The mysterious woman smiled cunningly, drumming her fingers on the table as
the smile turned into a full out nasty grin. ôNot yet.ö

                              *  *  *

                              DAY ONE


FOUR YEARS LATER û

THURSDAY, February 3, 2000ù HELSINKI, CAPITOL OF FINLAND




The moment the Crown Prince of Finland stepped onto the threshold of
Kensington Palace in Helsinki, Finland, and heard the orders from the Queen
of Finland to come at once from the thick-lipped lackey, he understood
immediately. Cursing quietly and calling himself quite the fool, he should
have expected it.
Damn, he had known the moment the doctor had been admitted into his office
with papers from the Queen ordering no hindrance so he could gather specimen
for testing, that his mother was moving her final piece in the game for
checkmate. When he realized the doctor had waited for a reply, he flushed
hotly, felt the doctor squirming, knowing how he hated what he had to do.
Somehow, however he had gotten through it, obeyed the doctorÆs instructions,
suffering the humiliation, as the doctor made it as easy as he could. Even
now, he could see the sympathetic smile on the manÆs face.
The handsome prince sighed, and raked his hands through his black hair,
nodding to the girl in encouragement as he shrugged off her offer for his
briefcase. He had skirted, danced around, and pussyfooted the poisonous
matter for years on end, and he didnÆt think he could hold it off anymore.
The copy of the damned sperm count report had reached his desk that very
hour, and his mother probably already received the original early this
morning and read it a dozen times. When he read the results, he hadnÆt been
surprised whatsoever at the news he had a sperm count among the highest in
the highest percentile. His own paternal great-grandfather, allegedly
charged with the paternity of enough bastards to fill a concert hall, had
been every bit as fecund as the Greeks.
The soft eyed brutnette intern watched in fascination, nervously smoothing
down her blue suit, tongue tied at his looks, reached out, took his coat,
got close enough to him to smell his aftershave, and nearly swooned at his
feet right then as she clutched his coat, holding it as close as she dared
under his scrutinizing eyes and inhaled deeply of the faint tracest of
cologne that mingled in the coat.
She was more than in love with himù the globally powerful and famous Crown
Prince Darien Justin Jesse David of Finland, who was plastered on every
girlÆs wall, the topic of almost every feminine conversation, raved as the
hottest sex symbol of the century. His eyes were to die forù such a soft
light blueù a woman could drown in them. She savored every sighting she got
of him, wished on more than one occaison that for just one moment, he would
give a smile just for her, at nights she dreamed about his kiss, and hardly
dared mention it to the other interns and secretaries.
Prince Darien was the perfect picture of a prince with the prettiest light
bright blue eyes, the shiniest midnight-black wavy hair, long at the back,
tan skin, and thick lashes that needed no mascara. His high voice was warm,
soft and very sexy, and could turn her on anytime she heard it, and she
wondered if the prince was aware of how alluring he was.  He had a smile
that flashed lightening that had tiny dimples, with an equally warm high
voice to match. The black suit coat stretched across his broad shoulders,
and his suit showed off his powerful muscular arms and slender waist and
body to perfection, emitting a powerful commanding presence.
She was brought to the present at the PrinceÆs soft inquiry of the QueenÆs
whereabouts. In a daze, she murmured that Her Majesty, Queen Anne was in her
Presence Chamber with her cabinet, and could only stare after him as he left
her side, the grimace of impatience snarling his lips back to show his
perfectly white teeth.
Darien Kent went up, the intern downstairs frozen like a statue, watching
the prince with a countenance of breathless naked lust as his six-foot-one
physique sculptured exactly like the dancer Patrick Swayze, moved with sleek
animal-like grace up each step. His mental moods were swinging violently,
the wretched report that had blasted his arguments and confidence up into
the sky burning a hole in the nervously swinging briefcase got to him so
much that he took it out and looked at it again when he reached the landing.
It was quite simple and self-explanatory as he read it again, passing all
the scientific jargon and he didnÆt know how to feel. He should be glad he
would have children very easily if he really wanted to, but he hated the
hold it gave his mother over him. He couldnÆt marry, he couldnÆt! He hated
it, but somehow he couldnÆt bring himself to wish to be sterile. After all
if the Crown Prince of Finland were sterile, there was almost no point to
marryingùno hope of producing a future King of Finland. He leaned against
the banister of the stairwell, his breath in jagged rasps as he reached the
end of the report, where the lab had written their pure venomous remarks.
And furthermoreù the doctor had writtenù there is approximately almost a
hundred percent certainty of successful fertilization within first sexual
intercourse.
Clutched tightly in his hand, he folded the report and slid it into his
coat, resolving to ceremoniously burn the thing at the first opportunity and
headed for the west wing where his motherÆs presence chamber was located,
ready to go into the dragonÆs lair.
The work stopped in the cubicles he passed, not hearing the ringing of the
phones, the monotone voices on the lines, the staple sounds on the mountains
of papers filled in the palace every day, the hissing of faxes. The women
watched spellbound as he passed, their ID badges swinging absently through
their frozen fingers, but he was oblivious to their admiration lost in his
own thoughts again, his face grim and impassive in the usual scowl.
ôGood morning Your Highness,ö One emboldened secretary said to him, flashing
a simpering smile at him, but as usual he didnÆt respond. Oh yes, he knew he
was attractive, but he also knew his net worth of a couple billion and his
crown, which was his birthright. Any one of these stupid women would give
their eyes teeth to be a crown princess and a queen.
ôIÆm glad to see you your Highness.ö Said Russell, who had been his fatherÆs
butler as he admitted the prince into Queen AnneÆs presence chamber.  ôHer
Majesty is waiting for you, sheÆll be right in.ö
His heart pinged with compassion for the prince of Finland as the young man
sighed, and swept into the conference room lavished with tapestries and
carved wood and placed his briefcase on the polished long painted oak table
heavily. As he looked at the prince before going to fetch Queen Anne, his
rage and hatred for his sovereign flared up again as the prince flopped on
the chair looking more dead than alive, his lone figure looked forlorn and
unhappy. The toll of government is fast scouring youth from him, Russell
thought angrily; itÆs like an eighty-year-old man waiting to die is in him.
The prince slumped down in his chair, looking and feeling old and tired. To
be totally honest the gray haired butler was always surprised to know the
prince was still breathing, because he acted like a robot, with no animation
or life at all, and his nose flared angrily. It was disgraceful the way
Queen Anne treated her sonù as a servant and a dog.
ôGood morning son.ö Anne Marie Alexander Kent, Queen Regent of Finland,
forty-two, very regal, formal, and elegant with two folder in her arm,
glided into the room serenely with the air of dignity surrounded her that
kept her cool and calm in even the most tragic of crisises.
Always the lady, Darien Kent thought, standing up and bowed low as was the
custom, wanting to throw up as his mother walked down to the sovereignÆs
seat at the head of the table as he examined her. Very pretty and petite,
five-three to be exact, Anne Alexander Kent wore her permed dark hair ear
length with loose curls, giving her a generous rich girl look that suited
her stylish suits, one of which was a green emerald one, looking especially
smart.
By the height of her nose, the Queen was a very proud woman and she had
every right to be; for the once Miss Alexander was from a very wealthy old
Greek family that had been influential in Finland since the seventeen
hundreds. His older uncle, Gregory, owner of the family estate down south
was very proud of his status of the QueenÆs brother, and had earned a title
from his brother-in-law King James. Despite his sisterÆs hashing on he
should marry and do his duty to the Alexander line, he went on with his
lusty life at bars, gaming tables, and visiting his mistressÆs home; his
brother was heir, that was enough.  He was fond of Darien and his niece
Victoria and visited Kensington frequently, making Darien one of the best
poker players in the court, and oh how furious Anne had been when she found
out!
Greeting his mother with a kiss, the Prince of Finland pulled out the
sovereignÆs chair for her and with a serene grace the Queen sat down, with
the approving nod at her son for the good display of manners.
Now, she got down to business, opening the first folder and quickly
conferred personal household accounts and assets with her son, who found an
error, and told her to have the accountant look them over again. Then she
opened the other folder, and told him that she had negotiated a treaty with
the country of Zealand for their wool, wood and fruit in return for some of
FinlandÆs technology and oils.
Darien couldnÆt be more startled or suspicious. Queen Anne hated Zealand,
and most of all the ruling family, the Avalons, or he should say, ruling
individual for there was only one Avalon left, Patrick X, King of Zealand.
Anne had plenty to say on the subject, condemning King Patrick for refusing
to ensure the line after the death of his wife left him a childless widower.
SheÆd hated them for as long as he could remember and when his father had
still been alive, she had never hesitated to make her grievances known when
he dealt with them. James, (nor Darien for that matter,) never ever did
understand his wifeÆs misguided prejudice, and remained close friends with
them for he found the late King Nicholas, the late Queen Katharine, and the
present King Patrick quite nice. But Anne looked upon them as ôroyal
hillbillies who dare consort with commoners as equals, who had no
appreciation for their position,ö and preached it frequently.  Slowly he
returned to what she was saying now.
AnneÆs hand was waving in the air, the bracelets on her arms tinkling
cheerfully. Anyway, she couldnÆt make the signing, and as the heir to the
throne, would Darien go as a representative of their country to sign in her
name and oversee the conditions? Take Victoria, the Queen said reaching for
the pitcher of water by her, pouring some in a glass, Zealand was beautiful
this time of year, and because the princess had come home unexpectedly,
(because the boarding school had an epidemic breakout) it would be a nice
little vacation for her.
Aha, Darien thought, hereÆs the clinch. The old woman still refuses to
socialize with the royal family, or to spend time with her own daughter.
Anne viewed Victoria as an annoyance and didnÆt know what to do with her
daughter, wanting as little to do with her as possible. Stubborn foolish
woman. Slowly he agreed to go as she expected, snapping the pen against the
polished long table.
The entire operation should take no more than a month, she slid the
paperwork over to him, send back reports daily to her, and he would leave
tomorrow or tonight, whenever he liked. Now lastly, she wanted to know what
he thought of Charlene Kincaid. The dear girl was a very good friend, and
she was in deep love with him, and what could be more natural than a
marriage, Anne reasoned, the girl was beautiful, wealthy, and of good
breeding.
ôIÆll take some coffee, Russell.ö Darien broke in as Russell entered the
room. The poor butler nearly collapsed at the display of life, barely able
to say, ôAt once Your Highness.ö
  ôDarien,ö his mother began in a warning prelude as she slipped the report
of the sperm count out of her pocket, and waving it at him to prove her
point, told him he wasnÆt going to put it off any longer. His last excuse
that he may not be able to have children was disproved once and for all; the
queen favored him with a dark look as she launched her attack. She couldnÆt
for the life of her, understand why he was so dead set against marrying. He
was the Prince of Finland, and he had a duty to his family, and your
country.  Darien might as well give her the bad news and put her into her
grave... was he actually intending to be the bachelor King of Finland?
Darien sighed, as he laid his shaking hands side by side. ôThe idea appeals
to me more than you think.ö Darien growled, feeling wholly ashamed at the
same time. He knew what was expected of him and that was time to settle
down, marry, and produce an heir.
But how could he tell his mother the real reasons that he objected marriage?
His motherÆs friends whispered among themselves, he was a good for nothing
weakling, a poor excuse for the son of James V, a joyless bastard who was
rumored to have homosexual tendencies, who would never measure up to his
great father.  And they were right, because it didnÆt matter how many
charities he contributed to or how many hours he devoted leading his
country, it wasnÆt enough.
Quite more correctly, he was very tired of living. His eyes wept blood every
time he read of rape, of murder, of a war, and it seemed such a waste of
beautiful lives that were created for a purpose, he hated the hurt, anger,
and pain that was always there around him. HeÆd seen the destruction that
came from rape, and it was distasteful to him.
He missed his father, and knew that he shouldnÆt grieve forever, but he
couldnÆt help but miss the one other person who really loved him and who he
loved that had died and left him with this huge responsibility on his
shoulders. He left. He left!
DarienÆs whole life was mapped out into a lonely hopeless existence, and his
mother pounded home that love was never for him, that he was destined for
glory and power, had to focus on Finland. He hated the endless meetings,
paperwork, studying that filled his days and he was at the point where he
wanted to burn up every single book in the world. Victoria was the only
bright star in his life, was the only thing to live for, if it hadnÆt been
for her, and the knowledge that it was a sin, he would have shot himself
with his fatherÆs .38 caliber years ago. He couldnÆt bear the grief of the
sister he adored and loved, and if he did that she would be alone.
It was rumored he was a queer, but although he could never be, and he
wasnÆt, he found he couldnÆt be attracted to a woman either. He knew he
couldnÆt give in to his motherÆs demands that he marry. Marriage required
something to give, and he had nothing to give of himself. Marriage required
making love, and how could a stone give love? If he married, and he made
love, he knew that he would certainly die, because it required more than he
had to give. He would lose his soul, his life, and where would he be then?
ôAre you saying youÆll never marry?ö Anne gasped in disbelief. ôYouÆll be
twenty-four in April! You must marry and have children! ItÆs past time to do
it!ö
ôYouÆve been saying that since I turned eighteen. In fact, the subject bores
me.ö
ôThe Kents are a proud and honest line, son.ö His mother said, trying to be
patient.
ôVictoria can assure the line.ö Darien pointed out. It wasnÆt like he was an
only child. ôShe could do it better then I, Mother.ö
ôOh hang Victoria!ö Anne snapped, waving the discussion of her daughter.
ôWhat part has she in this? She is not the successor to your father, you
are, Darien. You are all I have left of your fatherù the only living memory
of him! Just what do you think he would say? ö
DarienÆs mouth quirked upward at the contours as he knew what James would
say, and in a disapproving tone alsoù ôHe would say Mother, to go shopping
and to a movie, and leave me alone. You know he never approved of arranged
marriages. This isnÆt the eighteenth or nineteenth century, no, this is
quite modern times, and... ö
ôI cannot believe you want the line to peter out!ö Anne cried in despair. ôI
canÆt understand your reluctance to fulfill your obligations!ö
As the prince changed his position in the chair, he drank some water. ôI
have done my duty to you, my family, and my country, twenty-fourùseven for
nearly eight years, Mother. Father would see it that way and as fair, and
you know it.ö Darien stated firmly. ôUncle Gregory is nearly sixty and shows
no intention of heading for matrimony.ö
Anne was more irate. He was a rake, and horrid womanizer, and furthermoreù
ôMy brother is not someone I want my son to emulate!ö
Darien clenched his teeth with impatience. ôIf your goal was to ruin my
appetite and good mood Mother, youÆve succeeded. Goodbye!ö He rose to
escape.
ôI am not finished yet!ö Anne roared, pounding her fist on table. By heaven,
she couldnÆt allow this sparring to go on any longer. Finally she came
around and delivered the final blow. This time she was putting her foot
down. Not one of her children would go down the garden path and make a
regrettable mistake like someù and here she faltered, and the princeÆs
eyebrow went up at her hesitance, and hard breathing.
Darien was definitely interested in what she was going to say. His motherÆs
eyes glazed over and her face contorted with pain at some memories before
she shook herself loose. No one in this family had ever failed to serve
their country in every way and whatÆs moreù she wouldnÆt allow it. The
Prince Darien would marry. She had sent an offer of marriage in his name to
Charlene Kincaid, and she had eagerly accepted it. Darien had one year to
announce the young lady of his choice, and make her his bride, or she would
force Charlene KincaidÆs hand.
Her son turned white as his mouth dropped open like a fish. Surely this was
a dream. A cold hand clapped over his throat, and he felt like he was
falling, falling, falling, and never stop.
Anne peered at him worriedly. Should she call the doctor? He looked usually
very tired and old, but not so much as today, and not so much like falling
dead as he did now. She had never seen him so shocked and scared. Scared?
No! Surely not. Marriage wasnÆt that bad. She dismissed it, and waited for
his reply.
Finally Darien found his voiceù ôHow could you? How could you do anything so
underhanded and... vile?ö
Normally Anne would have punished him for the insolence, but after the
lightening bolt she gave him, she could overlook it, as long as he obeyed
her. ôEasily.ö The queen replied with a toss of her dark hair, aqua eyes
pinning him down.
This was surely a cruel joke, the Prince of Finland thought in terror,
heedless of Queen AnneÆs scrutinizing eyes. This canÆt be happening to me!
YouÆve spoiled her, Father! He shouted angrily, silently. YouÆve gotten her
to think that she can get anything she wants, and youÆve left her to meù She
doesnÆt care about me, she doesnÆt love me, and I canÆt fight her without
you! Why did you have to die? Why? Why? Why couldnÆt you have lived instead
of me, taken care of her and if you wanted her pampered then you should have
killed me because I wonÆt do it! I wonÆt!
And so he said it. ôI wonÆt do it!ö He cried, for the first time, his voice
strangled with emotion. ôI wonÆt! I abhor the idea of a marriage I do not
want. I tell you again, I wonÆt!ö
Anne whirled around on him, eyes blazing and with three steps, and although
Darien was much taller than she was, to him the queen was as tall as
Goliath, glaring down at him, face contorted with righteous indignation.
ôDid you just talk back to me?ö Her voice demanded softly implying more than
the danger. She wasnÆt too old to thrash him, no way. She tilted his chin up
to look at her. ôHum?
DarienÆs courage broke, and his shoulders slumped back into the posture of
the submissive servant. ôNo Mother. Forgive my words.ö He murmured softly,
very upset indeed. ôI said what I didnÆt mean because I was overcome. I am
honoured with the considerate decision you gave me. There is no greater
woman or more forgiving one than you. I was in the wrong, for I am prince
and duty bound to protect the line.ö
She grunted, giving an appeased nod along with an elegant forgiving smile,
and her eyes shone with pleasure at the prodigal son who had returned. She
placed both hands on his shoulders, gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek
and patted it profusely.
ôNow you speak as a queenÆs son should.ö She said approvingly in a friendly
manner and with a pat on his hand, Queen Anne flounced away with a satisfied
smile making her exit, leaving her son sinking back into his chair in shock.



                               END OF EXCERPT


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