THE MEETING BETWEEN THE TWO BROTHERS of the royal house was held in a guarded chamber. Not the Throne room but with equal security. The matter to be discussed was most discreet and for the King's ears alone. The subject could not be attended in the Throne room either because the walls did have ears.
If one of the castle servants heard, and were to talk, then the Crown would have to summon The Bleeder once more. So instead, the meeting was arranged in the northernmost area of the Castle courts, the Royal bath house.
The chambers of the wing were dedicated to serve the Royal family's care. Designed by the Seers, the arena boasted a wild façade of stunning architecture. There were chambers with steam baths, curved into the shape of a dome with shined graven floors.
There were cool pools of relaxation for the Queen, and there was also the public springs for sloshing about. The royal children usually played about in this particular area. The water was cleaned in the aftermath by trusted castle servants after each visit by the princess and her twin brothers.
The Queen, Lorraine, held a bit more composure than her children during her visits to the Bath. While Esabel, Taroth and Tranin disturbed the waters in playful glee, Lorraine meandered calmly into her private alcove, with a graceful gait, descending into the pool, then settling in to cool water flushing over her naked skin. It was in those moments of sublime peace that her mind would flit to a dampening thought of hers.
The Lady of the White Keep, Rebelle Cranmer.
For some untoward reason, she couldn't seem to get Rebelle out of her mind.
When Lorraine sat in the loft with her arts, she always filled her mind. It was her plump lips, the design of her hips, the shade of her brown skin, the errant play of her eyes. Lorraine could barely assemble metal with these wayward thoughts flooding her mind. In those moments, she would feel a warm sensation creeping across, all over her skin. Then to the pit of her belly. Then lower, until it dampened her with wanton desire.
She'd hurried across from her loft to the pool where she now rested, hoping the cool waters would assuage the heat she suddenly felt. But as she waded through the refreshing coldness, it seemed the water could do nothing about the tightening of her body. Lorraine knew what she wanted. She knew it in her heart, but to desire such thing was sin.
The Temple Graces openly preached against such practices. A man must not lay with the same kind, but what was she to do when Rebelle incited in her the most erotic fantasies. It didn't help that she was also the woman her husband desired.
How could he not? Lorraine was a fair beauty with green eyes but she admitted that Rebelle was something else. Something sinful and captivating. The Lady had that smoky swirl of lust about her and a dark mystery to her sexy pull. Lorraine could already imagine how they would fit. Her body under hers, above her; tangling sweaty with desire between the sheets.
She could almost feel her light skin; the way Rebelle would taste on her lips. With these thoughts coursing through her mind, Lorraine had never wanted passion so much. She imagined Rebelle could bring her pleasure like never before. Only her fantasies about her nearly sent her to ecstasy.
Lorraine noticed her palm had slid down under the water and row rested snug between her legs. She sighed and pulled it away. She was aware of the primeness of her body but she would not let herself go there. Rebelle was a Lady, already married.
To a man...
And she was still very much a Queen. Aside the rings on both their fingers, she also had an Empire to build, an image to uphold, and she would definitely not add any more scandalous gossips to the ones already flying about.
Lorraine swam to the water's edge where a few handmaidens stood above with plush immaculate towels. She ascended up the steps dipping into the pool and turned around. A female servant moved forward and quickly wrapped the towel over her glistening nudity.
As she dried off, another cottoned material was brought forth. This one shaped like a tunic but comfortable nevertheless. Lorraine slipped her arms into the soft sleeves and the robe fell to her ankles. Padded slippers were provided to ease her movement across the stone floors.
Lorraine turned to the nearest maid.
"Irina, Get my children from the adjoining chamber, and have them meet me in the dinning hall. They should be hungry by now."
"Yes, Your Grace," the girl replied with bowed glinting eyes, trying not to show her wonder at the fact that the Queen knew her name.
Lorraine paid attention to such details. She felt ruling had more to do with the people than with the actual throne. Besides, a good way to ensure her family's safety was to be mindful of the servants. That way, she would know who to trust with their meals. All that was needed to overthrow a centuries-old dynasty was just a poison vial.
As Irina moved away to get the children, Lorraine's voice stopped her at the chamber's entryway.
"Don't let the twins trick you into playing a bit more. They can be witty like that."
"Yes, ma'am," Irina replied with a nod. Then she was gone, off to do the Queen's bidding.
As Lorraine walked past the smooth stone walls of the chamber way, she heard the deep ring of men's voices. She assumed it was Arlon and his brother, Latchlon. Their voices were mostly echoes and indiscernible. Why the men loved hot baths however, she could not fathom. Why would anyone want to go naked in a hot environment?
As she moved towards the South wing to the family's residence, she was aware of the large Kingsguards following a distance away. Lorraine loved the air of the Ivory castle, with its shined silver-helmed officers, waiting castle servants, and immaculate mineral walls, but she couldn't help but want one other thing.
One other person...
All of a sudden, she felt herself praying to the Pantheon for the courage to subdue her desires.
~. ~. ~.
LATCHLON SAT IN THE SMALL POOL of the royal bath chamber. The light seeping in through the high windows was minimal, but its faint glow played with the walls of the room, bouncing off the reflective surfaces.
The swirly waters also cast warped shadows on the caved walls. Steam arose all around him in smoky wisps, and the air was accented with the smell of bathing spices; the kind peddled by foreign traders. The kind they claimed seeped into the skin and gave the body a glossy shine.
Latchlon didn't believe a word from the merchants mouth. He most certainly did not believe that the soaps made his skin wrinkle less, but who was he to question the King's purchases. If the king wanted the magic soaps, then magic soaps it was.
He sat with his hands pillowed above on the smooth slab of the pool's edge. His lower body was fully submerged in the water and he could feel the warm vapors radiating off his flesh. The waters were milky, hot but not scorching. Beyond him, on the opposite side of the pool was his brother.
No matter how many times he stared into Arlon's blue eyes like his, it didn't sway the fact that he was still the King. Latchlon had only seven months on Arlon. How their mother managed such birth he didn't even want to contemplate. The science of it was marvelling. They were almost twins, and it wasn't in the least bit surprising when Lorraine birthed twin boys at her second pregnancy.
Latchlon suspected that his brother might be the only person in the world he truly respected.
"So, what is it you wanted to talk about, brother?"
It was Arlon's voice, straight from the opposite side of the pool where he lay with his head angled back on the slab surface. His question interrupted Latchlon from his reverie and he turned to fully observe the king. Arlon's golden hair was wet and slicked back, and a touch darker. It looked gray in the smoky light of the chamber and whenever he made a little sound, the bare walls amplified the sound. The echoes were loud but totally warbly. Latchlon inwardly congratulated himself at this.
The bath pool chamber was the perfect cover for their discreet meetings. No one would expect a King to talk about royal matters in his bath, and any few attentive ears to their discussions would only hear the warbly reverberations of their voices. The chamber distorted their words so no listening ear would be able to make out a single word.
"I think there is a way to get the Wytcher."
Arlon deftly pulled up from his recline at Latchlon's words. His blue eyes pinned him in earnest.
"What way?" Arlon asked.
"We need work to together."
"I thought that is what we're doing..."
Latchlon fell silent but his eyes held a disbelieving look. Arlon sighed at his stare.
"...look brother, I tire of your silent games," Arlon began. "Whatever you want to say, out with it and stop with the formal shit. We are still brothers no matter the shift in power, alright?" Latchlon nodded in understanding and Arlon continued, "...now, tell me what's really bothering you."
Latchlon swam the small distance to Arlon. The water swirled around him as he moved, stopping beside the King. He leaned beside him and their sky eyes reflected in each other's gaze. Latchlon closed his eyes for a moment. Arlon said out with it so that's exactly what he was going to do.
"I think you're keeping a secret from me."
He opened his eyes and spotted Arlon still in the water, his gaze unwavering. They stayed silent for a while then abruptly moved to speak together. Arlon opened his mouth to speak first but Latchlon gave him no chance.
"I KNOW you are keeping a secret from me..." Arlon moved to interrupt but he went on. "...you said it yourself. We are brothers. We have kept each other's secrets from tutelage. We have kept them, no matter the number. Our father's secret; the little girls he fucking liked. The empire's secrets. YOU KNOW MY SECRET. I like men and you know that. Only you..." At this words, Arlon averted his eyes. Latchlon assumed this to be because Arlon hadn't fully come to accept the fact that he lay with men, but he couldn't care less, so he went on with his speech.
"...now, all I ask is that you tell me what you know. Maybe it could help in drawing out the Wytcher. I've been doing a considerable amount of thinking lately and have come to the conclusion that the wizard didn't just appear for nothing. To travel through Eracuse is no small feat, impossible even. The man is the first to cross the Blood Forests since its birth centuries ago. He has to be here for something, or more specifically, someone. I'm guessing you know about this..."
"How?" Arlon interrupted, "how would I know anything about why the Wytcher's here?"
Latchlon gave him that look again before replying.
"Well, first, you went berserk when I told you about his presence. Mad even. Then you requested we bring him alive even though his death would be much more profitable to the Crown and the Kingdom." Latchlon paused in his speech, taking a moment to study his brother. "I know you Arlon. You need the sorcerer for something. Tell me and we can work this out. The secret you hide from me may be a way to draw out the wizard."
Arlon turned, looking deeply into his brother's eyes. Latchlon was brilliant, that much was a given. He'd figured out everything. Yes! He wanted the Wytcher alive, because the Valkalon sorcerer could be the only key to knowing the truth about Marsil; his vampire ward chained in Lord Cranmer's underground chamber. He wanted to know why he had found the boy so far away from his land, from the Ice realms; at the opposite side of the Blood Forest. Who had dropped him there? How did the person cross? Who was the person? Was the person the same Wytcher they searched for?
Arlon contemplated telling his brother. Latchlon was quick to anger, and he feared such information would jeopardize Marsil's safety.
He already loved the moon-eyed boy like a son, and would gladly execute for him. He'd managed to keep him hidden for eighteen summers; through his blood crave and strange diet, for Marsil only drank blood. He could eat a few other foods, mostly roast, but he needed the blood to survive.
Arlon had learnt from Marsil's young age that the boy was something more. Even more than the powerful bloodlines of his people. He had sometimes spotted dark scales on his back as a child, but they would quickly vanish under his eyes before he could do anything about it.
He figured the boy was more than just some Blood Child. When he heard a Wytcher had been spotted on summerland soil, he knew in his heart the wizard had come for Marsil. What he wanted to know however was why his son was so important.
Lord Geralt had been his only confidant since they found Marsil those years ago at the forest's edge. The man was the only other person that knew of the presence of an Icelandic child in the summerlands. He trusted Geralt with his son's feeding and safety, but now here he was, his brother asking for the truth.
Arlon noticed that Latchlon was still staring at him, waiting for him to speak up. He took a deep breath and turned to meet his gaze.
"You want the truth?"
Latchlon gave a slight nod.
"I have a son."
Latchlon squinted at him. The big secret his bother was hiding was a son? If he had been with women, he assumed he'd have plenty by now.
"A bastard?" Latchlon asked.
"No."
"Then not your son?"
"I just told you he's my son."
"Well if he's your son and not a bastard, what is he?" Latchlon growled. It was clear from their risen voices that both men were on edge. Latchlon watched Arlon sigh deeply before he spoke.
"A vampire."
Arlon watched his brother's expression, and almost called for the Kingsguards when all the blood drained from his face. Latchlon went white as the cloud of vapor filling the small chamber.