Dark Tyrant

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 26 (v.1) - Tumble

Submitted: October 03, 2013

Reads: 119

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Submitted: October 03, 2013

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Chapter: Tumble

Light was once again fading into a spectacular show of soft oranges, blues, pinks and purples. Gladys was tired and so was I, though I was surprised to be at the front-half of our merged cohorts—it seemed Brutus was being lenient on keeping ranks. A tiny silhouette loomed in the far distance, and I was anxious to get there, for two reasons: One: that meant a bed. Two: A bed meant kissing Brutus, which honestly, was the best thing my hopeless life would ever enjoy. Glayds thundered down the worn path, but not fast enough for his mother—the only traces of Nightmare and her rider was in the torn up grass and the direction we were all heading. I kept rolling the day through my head: Do I amuse you, Angia? Train with me. Shut up, ensign. Most importantly, I love you…

I smiled at Brutus’ words, growing warm and fuzzy, my heart fluttering anxiously. The roar of horse hooves surrounded me, the noise both forbidding and awing like a huge wave crashing against a cliff face. My mind continued to wander, seeping through every crack and crevice of my mind, before focusing on one particular memory.

I peeked nervously around the corner. My small hands gripped the muddy doorsill, my ears listening to the strange noises my mother was making. Mother looked angry—maybe that’s why I was nervous. The last time she’s been angry, we’d run out of food. The bed seemed to make strange noises too and I could—if I stood up on my tippy toes and craned my neck—see my father, smiling. She let out a ripping scream, and that’s when I was now well and truly scared. I backed away from the sill, my back brushing against the mud brick wall. Something was wrong but what was it? Another scream tore at my ears and they rung painfully. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t just abandon my mother. Why wasn’t father helping her? Another strange noise that sounded like what the horses made droned out of my parent’s room. My love for my mother defeated my fear and I shuffled anxiously forward, leaning once more around the corner. My eyes widened as some thing was coming out between my mother’s legs!

I cried out in shock, terror now pouncing back on me at its first opportunity. My father looked up, rising cautiously—I was proud to know that word, it seemed. In a few strides, I was gazing at where his belly button should be. He knelt down to my height. I stared wide-eyed at him, my mind panicking as it scrambled for some sort of logical explanation. “Angel, are you okay?

“What’s wrong with mummy?” I whimpered, biting onto a few brown strands—an old habit that I did when I was nervous.

My father smiled, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. I stared expectantly into his green irises, my mother screaming again. “Sweet, you know how you’ve always wanted a brother or sister?”

I nodded, sucking on my hair. He continued. “Well, Angel, how about you go outside and play and when I call you back, you can have a little brother or sister, okay?”

“But what wrong with mommy? What’s that thing in between her legs?” I persisted.

“Maybe mommy will tell you when you go and pick her some daisies. You know they’re her favourite. Maybe even make her a daisy chain and pick some apples.”

My mother screamed suddenly, making me jump. “Okay father,” I whispered sadly, as if I was mourning for my mother’s pain.

My father’s rough fingertips ruffled my hair. He waited for my mother’s pained groan—I got a rush as I suddenly remembered the sound and placed a name on it—to end before answering. “That’s a good girl. Love you. No matter what. Now—”

I was suddenly thrown out of memory lane as Glayds veered sharply to the right. Dazed, my reflexes were slow, and I slipped left, my legs being thrown out of the stirrups, the reign ripping out of my hands as I was instantly airborne and falling to earth. Glayds galloped away as solid ground rushed up to meet me, gravity dragging me down to a hard, painful impact. My body ached as I rolled on the worn grass, balling up. Something was trying to catch my attention, but the pain drowned it out. I groaned, a distance roar echoing in my ringing ears. I could only see through blurred vision, darkness ringing around my confused gaze. A voice slammed into my lost mind. Angia! Stand up you useless idiot!

Uh, I groaned.

Get up now or prepare to be trampled! The voice screamed, desperately trying to take control. Its only efforts were forcing my vision to sharpen rapidly, my eyes stinging as my pupils dilated wide. I jumped, the roar all around me as was the blur of white, black, grey, caramel and brown. I sat up, my head spinning from the rush of blood. My thoughts were slow; it’s only company the voice’s panicked yelling. Move! Now!

I groaned weakly in response, feeling the wind generated by swift movements swirling around me, dirt pattering on my skin. What are you talking about? I breathed mentally.

STAMPEDE! THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY HORSES COMING THIS WAY! STAND UP FOR GODS’ SAKE!

My senses jumped awake, and I suddenly realised where I was and how long it would be before I became a pancake. The roars—my eyes widened with horror—were horses’ hooves on the worn grass, all desperately attempting to steer away from me. A scream escaped me before I could discipline my scared-beyond-wits mind—every thought was: You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

My hairs stood on end, another scream ripping out of my throat. “HELP! SOMEONE!”

The blurs never seemed to end, horses racing past, their riders trying their very best to not crush me. Desperation gripped me, and I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, urgently trying to outrun the galloping horses. A horse hoof crushed the grass only millimeters from my hand, the following hind leg whizzing past my face. I froze, but I knew both moving and not moving were extremely dangerous—the problem was which one was worse. I couldn’t escape the torrent of legs, all having the potential to kill me. I looked up, and a fear like none I’d ever experienced bulleted through me, shock sinking it’s teeth into me, freezing me as a gasp of oh no was sucked in. A huge black horse galloped forward, taking long strides in my direction. I desperately wanted to scramble back, not let it get near—my fear of death or injuries reaching a higher climax—but I couldn’t unlock my muscles, or narrow my eyes, or do anything about the horror I was seeing. The horse was only meters away, and a pale arm extended, a face so glorious and filling me with such solace that I thought I would cry. Nightmare took one more full stride before his hand clamped around my offered arm, using Nightmare’s forward momentum to swing me up behind Brutus. The relief hit me hard and the joy was strong. Tears finally broke through, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist as my king pulled his horse around in a sharp U-turn.

“Brutus! Oh, thank the gods!”

Brutus leaned into the wind as Nightmare shot forward, my liquid of pure rejoice being whipped away as I secretly kissed the collar of my savior’s breastplate. We easily passed all of the other horses, and I wished that Brutus would order her to go faster—maybe that way I would be able to run away from the experience that just passed. Brutus’ black mare passed through the gates, darkness now only just managing to defeat the sunlight that still barely remained. Nightmare slowed in front of all the soldiers, apparently glaring hate at both of us. My lover swung off, holding out his arms and I obediently jumped into them, my floodgates never ending. I rested my chin on his palladium-protected shoulder, weeping silently into his ear, breathing my gratitude.

“Brutus, Brutus. I thought I was dead for sure…I love you…I love you…”

Over his shoulder, I could see every soldier’s face souring in contempt and disapproval, but I knew they had no authority to judge their master. Brutus loved me and that was it. They couldn’t change it; and if they dared to I would make sure that the punishment was adequate. Brutus spun around so that I now stared at the gates and behind it: Flat planes and a marvelous, breath-taking sky, the array of soft colours forming one very beautiful sunset.

“Uncle.” I felt his secure hands tighten around me as we both heard Amaria’s bitter tone. “May I speak with you? Privately?”

No! Don’t go, Brutus, I begged mentally, praying to all of the gods that I had knowledge of that Brutus was miraculously a mind reader. Don’t leave me here alone when I need you…I’m scared Brutus, and I don’t know what to do! Please…

The tears rushed out faster, like little rivers on my cheeks. “Don’t go…” I begged him desperately.

A pause before he answered, as if my king was weighing out his options and seeing which one was better and worse—of course there are two sides to a coin; both a consequence and a benefit to every choice. “I must, Angel.” Brutus whispered gently back.

In desperate times, I used desperate measures, coming in the form of using his intense, hot passion for me to force him to stay. I kissed my lover lightly on the neck, getting the satisfaction of warmness slipping past his calm, serious composure. “Please Brutus. Don’t leave me here alone…”

My distraught sobbing was breaking him, but Amaria ruined it: “Uncle.”

Brutus pushed me gently away, rejection and loss smashing into me, so much so that I cut the tears and just stared at him longingly, my hope lifeless. Brutus hated hurting my feelings—actually, hurting me as a whole—and leaned forwards, our lips touching lightly. As if one kiss will heal these wounds, voices scoffed, making me rush forward in a final effort to persuade him to stay and possibly—if Bellony, for once in her divine life, favoured me—make out? Brutus relented, allowing one more kiss before he spun on his heels, gazing calmly at Quill’s jealous glare and Amaria’s disapproving scowl. “Of course, niece.”

Brutus strode off, leaving me alone and vulnerable. As he followed Amaria, I stared longingly at him, fighting the painful urge to rush off after the only man I will ever love.

So it’s true, The Voices mused, but I caught their scoffing.

Oh, yes it’s true! Besides, you can’t complain—I’m not the only one who enjoys Brutus’ affection.

True, they admitted as Brutus continued walking away. But if you love him so much then why aren’t you chasing after the king—I sighed dreamily at the term. See? The voice persisted—I was too emotionally broken and shocked to identify it. Don’t you dare rebuke the fact that you’re head-over-heels in love with him! Go on, lovebird! Run!

I can’t, I mumbled sadly back, tears streaming as my sun was leaving me in darkness. He wouldn’t want it.

Silence replied me both mentally and in the real world. I could hear Brutus snarling angrily, and looked up, to see him arguing with Amaria, but just as sudden was my surprise, the argument broke down into playful teasing. “Quill, look after Angia.”

I stumbled back at the princess’ order, Quill holding a smile of sadistic joy as she rose from respective kneeling and basically skipped over. “No.”

In the distance, Amaria raised a surprised brow. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Quill halted, challenging the king’s order with a sly glance. By now, it took all of my willpower to keep where I was.

What do you mean ‘He wouldn’t want it?’ The voice scoffed incredulously.

My eyes swept across, taking in every glare of every negative emotion, providing the answer. The voice mentally choked. You’re afraid of what they think? It cried angrily.

I looked down at the gravel in shame. “Well, well. Looks like your protector has abandoned you,” Quill snickered, making me raise my gaze only to drop it as I received an intense scowl. “Finally.”

I rushed back, desperately looking for Brutus. But he was gone, invisible as all of the soldiers filed underneath a high stone archway. As I searched, Quill lunched forward and clamped down on my wrist, hauling me forward. “Come on, Angia. Let’s go play.”

I dug my heels into the rocks, but Quill wouldn’t have it and pulled so hard that my shoulder sounded a painful crack. “Let go of my wrist, Quill!”

“Make me,” She shot back, tightening her grip for emphasis.

Brutus! Help! I tried to scream, but the words clogged in my throat.

Quill looked back and smirked at my panic. “Don’t trust me?” She tutted.

Much to my frustration, my infuriated NO! wasn’t more than a quiet, gentle vibration in my voice box. It seemed that I wasn’t allowed any curses that were even remotely harsh.

“I told you to let me go,” I snarled, attempting to include some rapid-fire name-calling but the syllables were plugged in.

She launched a donation of her saliva at my face. “Tell me that again, you bitch.”

My heartbeat rocketed with shock. I stared with horror at Quill’s sneer, at her pride at calling me such a derogatory word. Hot, sizzling rage piled on in the tonnes.

Catfight, catfight, catfight! I kept hearing The Voices egg me on. I growled and pounced, tackling her. She was down, but not one-hundred percent.

“Yeah, tell me that again, you disgusting sow!” I screamed, shoving the heel of my palm into her nose. The commander bared her teeth, and before I could intercept her, her legs wrapped around my neck, hauling me backwards. I pulled at her shins, desperate to clear my airway.

“Scream for your master Angia. Go on. I dare you.”

Quill leaned over me, pressing my skull into the ground, and though I marvelled and was slightly envious of her flexibility, I still hated her with all my effort. Pain made me writher in desperation. I screamed as an attempt to relieve the agony, rocks jabbing into my skull, but for once, I decided to act myself. Quill needed to learn that she couldn’t call me names, or just all-out assault me and brush it off after a little slap from the authorities. I thrust up an uppercut accompanied with an infuriated snarl of I. Told. You. To. Get. Off. Me! My elbows pulled back hard into her thighs, before my fingers raced up and tugged viciously on her toes. Quill yelped angrily, as I flung her legs off and jumped up, running for dear life. The wind whipped at my face, dragging my long hair behind me. I kept taking fast strides, sprinting under the huge arch and turning into a sloped corridor, voices sounding out of the entrance.

Well, anyone is better than that horrible name-caller, I muttered mentally with exasperation. Someone rushed past me, glaring right into my eyes. I shirked away at the intensity of that gaze, that red-hot, boiling, scorching, burning, painful stare. Those black irises returned my sight, and softened. In fact, I was so focused on those dark, predator-like eyes that I hardly noticed the silky, midnight-black hair and the moan of appreciation by several in my mind. “You’re crying.”

Yes I am, Brutus…I sobbed, my thoughts sounding with, “That’s right Angia! Hide behind Brutus!”. The tears streamed as I imitated Quill’s foul voice.

“Go away, Brutus,” I snapped sadly, pulling his caressing hand away. “You just left me with that animal. But it looks like Quill’s not the animal—according to her, I’m a—” My body trembled with the hate I was containing, hate so endless that it could probably fill all of the oceans and seas in the world, expand across all of the galaxies. “Bitch.”

Brutus raised a brow, which I thought was an understatement—I had expected and hoped for wrath and rage. He rested the tips of his cool fingers on my neck, eying me with a smirk and slyness. “Why do you care what Quill thinks?”

My cheeks burned, my heart hammering, pumping rage into my muscles. “She called me a bitch! Bitch!”

“I understand that part—what I’m confused about is why you even consider her words.”

I stared into his soft, green eyes, flashing him a section of my rage, the insult running laps around my head. “You left me with her! You’re not there when I need you! Ever!”

The king caressed my neck, drawing his fingers in and out. But I kicked desire out and locked the door before I could even consider the emotion. “Only ten minutes ago I rescued you from being trampled. Before that, I sacrificed some very expensive cloth to clog the blood on your neck,” his thumb brushed over the scab, and he stepped closer so that I was trapped. From the back of my mind, I could hear desire kicking and banging on the door. Brutus placed his other hand on my cheek, pushing his fingers into my dust-enhanced hair. My behind was feeling the coolness of the wall behind me, and lust finally kicked down the door, sprinting to the height of my attention. My rage faded, heat warming up both our bodies. “Tell me, Angia, have I always not had the utmost concern for you?”

“No,” I whispered, attempting to defeat my lust with anger.

He laughed gently, butterflies fluttering as quickly as my rocketing pulse. “Come again?”

I faltered my confirmation of a deny as Brutus leaned in, our breath mixing. But there was a new question posing: Kiss? And I would have been mad to not accept it.

But that bet’s still on! I growled into my mind. “Yes…”

He touched my lips gently, and then shocked me as Brutus pulled away and rushed out of the corridor in a second. I was surprised at the sudden movement, the surprise of his unexpected choice. Someone sighed irritably. I turned to look at the top of the corridor: Princess Amaria.

She forced a smile. “My uncle loves you. And we all ask ourselves why…”

The tips of my lips turned up nervously. “Your Highness. Wouldn’t that question be better asked to His Majesty?”

She waved me off…or was it the question? “Let me ask you something,” Amaria said in a bitter tone, the tone I usually heard from Quill, horrible Quill: Envy. “Why do you think my uncle favours and loves you in such a way as to give him thoughts of…” She glared at me. “Marriage?”

My heart fumbled, my mind scrambling for something that would satisfy. “I don’t know. Your uncle is a very secretive person…”

The princess started down the corridor with exasperated purpose. “Secretive enough that he has reasons to be intimate with a servant!” I winced at the term; at the way she said it like it was a putrid thing people had to live with.

“The king is affectionate with me because he wants to be!” I shot back angrily, realising that my rage had never really gone.

“I saw the way he ran off—you’re as revolting and insulting to him as you are to me!”

I charged forward those last few paces between us and slapped her across a cheek, absolutely horrified by her abuse. Amaria froze with outrage, sneering. “An outburst of emotion—typical of a peasant.”

I raised my hand again, glaring at her fierily. “I can do it again.”

Amaria stepped forward and powerfully kneed me. I doubled over, choking, coughing and wheezing, my insides aching. I looked up at her fierce stare, the way she proudly rubbed her slightly pink cheek, the splash of colour on her pale skin entrancing. “As can I. Try to make a fool of us and I will double that for you. I would send you away if it weren’t for my king’s authority. Be rid of you; put you back in that cage as I saw you many months ago.” She raised a platinum-blonde brow at my clear anger. “Yes, my uncle cares for you and every single scar. You are making him ruin this empire! There would be no queen in you—because there is none! Nothing of nobility or royalty. A monstrosity you are, a poison!”

“Liar,” I snarled with a slight wheeze, clutching my stomach. “You can’t touch me, can’t hurt me if the king is your enemy. He rules the biggest empire, has the best army, the most resources, a kingdom that serves him, and is the smartest, most—”

Amaria cut me off. “Enough! I’m tired of this! Leave nobility to the nobles and royalty to the royals. Stay. Away. From. My. Uncle.” She set off, but not before muttering “You lower-class dimwit!”

Once again I was crying, my emotional state so fragile and unstable. It even seemed that The Voices were taunting and jeering at me. “Do I have a friend in the world?” I sobbed, frustrated.

“Oh, hello Angia!”

I whirred around to see the complete opposite of Quill: Judith, beaming at me with her huge, white, toothy smile and tight, long curls. She rushed to me, wrapping her arms around my chest, her head fitting in between my cleavage.

“I heard what the princess said and that’s not true!” Judith tightened her embrace, meeting my tearful eyes. “Don’t cry, Angia! My sister is a jealous rag and I think you’re more than worthy for His Majesty!”

I tried for an unnerved smile. “Thanks Judith. I heard you have had a rough time doing messaging. And the village?”

Judith pulled away, tugging my hand up the corridor, leading me into rich red light. “I have a lot to tell you…”


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