Chapter 2: A Long Journey Ahead

As the caravan that holds Eliana and her handmaid pulls away from the castle that she has known her entire life, she finally allows the tears to fall. As she is securely hidden within the wooden transportation, she gives herself the freedom to release her anguish and fear. Her tears are warm against her skin and she welcomes them willingly. Her father is the only family Eliana has left. She barely remembers her mother. There are only a few memories still clear in her mind.

“What would she say, if she were alive and heard about this arranged marriage?” Eliana wonders to herself, biting the bottom of her lip to hide any whimpers that try to slip through. “I am supposed to have a say in my future husband, but my father has gone behind my back. I wonder if she would be furious. Not that it would change my circumstances.”

“My Lady,” Selma begins, quietly at first. “It would not be sensible to dwell on what has happened in the past, or what you are leaving behind. You would be wise to look forward to your future and what it holds.”

Eliana sighs, averting her gaze from the window. “I know, but it is hard to think of much else.”

“Would you like me to braid your hair, My Lady, in order for you to be presentable when you announce yourself to the Prince.”

She hesitates momentarily before Selma moves to her side of the carriage and gently pulls at her hair.

“It is such beautiful hair. It is a wonder how it stays so lustrious.” Selma smiles as she runs her fingers through the strands in order to force out the tangles.

“Father wishes me to grow it out, but I have always preferred it shorter. It feels more enlightening that way.”

“Do not say such frivolous words, My Lady. Your hair is unique and precious. Any woman would perish for it. It is the only lineage your mother has given you.”

“That is why I detest it so. It is too unique. No one should yearn for such distinctive hair or even more gold. As long as the land is beautiful, every person should be content.” She peers back out the window, longing for the green grass and tints of blue and yellow from flowers to pop out and surprise her, but it is all dull and deceased. Her heart aches. Her mother’s face appears before her, her blond hair glistening like sunlight. “That is what this war has taught me. To not crave for the material world, but instead relish the time you have.”

Selma smiles softly, “Prince Drake has a gleaming city with gardens full of flowers and farms thriving with plants and livestock. You will be happy, I am sure.”

Eliana sighs once more. “Do not be disappointed with me if I do not believe you. I fear I will not ever be happy within that castle.”

“I could never be disappointed in you, your highness, and as for happiness,” Selma turns Eliana’s head toward her so that she could look her in the eyes, “There may come a time when it passes you by but you will not be able to tell that it is true happiness. Keep your mind open and your heart searching.”

“I will try my best, Selma.”

“Now, we have several days journey ahead of us, be prepared and know that it will not be easy.” Selma moves back to her side and resituates her fading dress. Eliana pulls her long braid over her shoulder.

“I am sure we can handle it,” she says losing herself in the sorrowful landscape as it passes by quickly. She drowns out the sounds of the horses clomping against the dirt and the driver barking orders to the animals. Several men on horseback surround the carriage, acting as escorts and bodyguards for Eliana on her journey to Benal, the city that Prince Drake rules under his father. They would assure King Daniel that his beloved daughter will not be collateral damage.

“There are rumors that Prince Drake is even more ruthless than his father. That he has killed hundreds of men, even some women. Could he truly be so vicious? He shall be your husband, Eliana.” Her mind runs these thoughts in circles, over and over.

A shiver bites at the bottom of her spine and causes her entire body to quiver. If he truly is such a man, then what will he do to her?

If only her father had not outlawed the Pivurlion race. “If they were not forced into hiding, then Murduk would not be compelled to remain neutral. King Omion is only protecting his citizens and the refugees. He does not want them to die or be left in the open to be massacred like before.”

It is unknown how many of the were creatures are within the borders of Murduk. The king refuses to acknowledge that his refugees may be dangerous, as they have not harassed him personally. Out of the three main countries, Drein, Climont, and Murduk, his is the one with the majority of refugees. The bulk of which are the werebears.

“What will become of my country once I am married? Will I be forced into the shadows and ordered to support the Climont empire? Selma has told me to look forward to my future, but what does that entail? Will I even survive,” she wonders to herself.

Eliana clenches her fists together in order to hold her tears at bay. There is to be no more weakness. She must act the part of ruler, as she soon will be. She has long since been seen as a woman in the eyes of society, and now she must prove her father right. She will do what is best for her country.

<<

“Jasper, if you do not go to Viptan, there will be no chance of you finding your mate.” Beatrice Darcy explains, her voice rough as irritation builds in her throat. She glowers down at her son who only crouches and pulls the weeds from their small garden.

“Mama, you know I do not want to go to Viptan. The clan only cares about themselves. Why would I want to find my mate there? They will just end up being self-centered and greedy like the rest of them.” He groans and shifts over a few inches to reach a new patch of weeds. His ebony hair dangles past his temples and obscures his rich, hazel eyes.

“Viptan is the sanctuary of our clan. The Xefol are growing endangered. If our children do not procure our descendants, we will become extinct. We cannot allow ourselves to die off the same as the werecats.”

Jasper growls softly, “Mother stop. We will not become like them. What makes you believe that I will find my mate in Viptan? It is a sanctuary of werebears, where we can live peacefully, but you know, as well as I, that not all mates are found within the same clan. Our own Chief has three brides already. What about his mate? She is doomed to wander mate less, with a hole in her chest. She will never be complete. Even if she were to find our Chief, she must share him. What sort of life is that?”

“What kind of man treats his mate as such?” Jasper growls in his mind. He clenches his jaw and his brow furrows as a scowl distorts his tan features.

Beatrice remains quiet for a moment, as she watches her son. “I am sorry you feel as such, but we have already held off your ceremony for too long.” She sighs, and gently scratches at her temple. “You are seventeen now. You should have undergone the ritual to attract your mate two years ago. Now it is too late. You are no longer a boy.”

“I am in no need of a mate. I enjoy being here with you and papa. You need me more than any mate will.”

“Sweetheart, that is not true. A mate is a part of you.” Beatrice walks over to the other side of the garden and hikes up her dress before crouching down to help with the weeds. “Before you meet, you might believe that you can go an entire lifetime of not knowing them. It is not until you lock eyes that you understand the significance of a soul bond and what it means to be one with another person.” She sighs softly and smiles. Her eyes glisten over.

Jasper pauses his movements as he watches his mother. A smile of his own slowly creeps up on his lips.

“Believe me, Jasper, it is worth the chance on finding them.”

He rolls his shoulders and glances back down at what he is doing, “I know, mama. I just do not want to travel all the way to Viptan on a chance. We left the sanctuary for a reason.”

She winces, but nods. “I know, but this is about your future. That is what matters. Be prepared for your father to force the issue, though.”

Jasper closes his eyes momentarily before nodding, “Yes, mama.”

<<

Yellow eyes. Vicious fangs. The smooth but definitive ear splintering growl.

Blood soaked ground. Tufts of fur floating in the air.

An excruciating howl.

Feline.

Olisnia wakes with a start. Perspiration beads on her temples and falls down to her chin. Her heart refuses to slow as every muscle in her body tenses to the point of agony. Her eyes glow violet, her thin, swirling tattoos up her neck and into her face gleaming.

“What was that? A vision? I have not dreamt of the Pivurlion in years. Especially not the felines. Not them. This is bad. Have they returned? Will the war begin once more?”

Breathing in deeply and out softly, Olisnia fights her body into relaxing. She must clear her mind. Is she sure this is even real? She rarely has a dream, but when she does, it foretells the future of Xalonia, the world.

The last this happened, King Daniel banned all Pivurlion and the new war ensued. “I must do something.”

With her limbs finally back in her control, she slowly stands from her hammock. Her long, thin dress in which reveal the intricate and technical design of her tattoos running the length of her body, sways with her movement. The salty wind from the water hits her cheeks as she stares out at the endless expanse of darkness.

She must leave.

Olisnia’s chest weighs heavy as the presence of danger runs up her arm, causing a shiver to painfully coat her body. “I need to go.”