The White Eclipse

Zenon P.O.V

The night of the ball.

The castle had been a flurry of movement from dawn to dusks. Processions of servants trailing in platters of choice food and baskets of colourful fruit. They have been butchering in the kitchens all morning, preparing Emikrollian delicacies to offer a tribute of honour. When they deserve nothing more than the farts from a pig's arse. A feast for our foe. A spectacle before the slaughter. I remained afar for as long as I could. Adalia spends the whole day in a rigorous beauty regimen before she's meant to be presented before the prince. But it is he who is unworthy to behold such a vision of grace.

The night has come and Rodem and I watch the event of the ball unfold from an exclusive gallery box. We watch from above, the dance floor awash with aristocracy. Rodem rants about the wasteful extravagance of the party. He only finds fault because such a celebration is in the name of our enemies. Something that I'm sure sours everyone's mood. I nod responsively to him, but my mind is elsewhere.

My queen.

Her royalty, and my duty, have placed an immovable wedge between us, creating a chasm that never ceases to grow. Adalia reverberates through the annals of my history, my present and my future. She is all I know. She is the realm I'm sworn to protect, the people whom I adore, and everything I would lay down my life for. Fate has tethered our souls yet the very same bond that binds is what keeps us apart. My father taught me to view her as nothing less and nothing more than what she is. And my mind dares not venture what anything more would look like.

"Zen." Rodem elbows me in the ribs. "Are you listening?"

I bob my brows as a languid response.

"What has your mind under siege?" He shoots me a mischievous look, his expression curling the scar above his brow. "Or should I ask who?"

I scratch my beard, trying to crush the flare within. "My sole concern is those bastards that now roam our lands. The Empire demanded they have a contingency of Emirkollian soldiers at their backing."

"And we have legions to crush them if they so much as blink wrong," Rodem reassures. He clamps a hand on my shoulder. "Your father has tripled border security. Asina scouts are monitoring any tactical movement. If they sought to embed spies, they will be routed. Have faith, brother. All is well."

He removes his hand to cuff a sheet of his chestnut-brown hair from his face.

"Nothing could diminish the bond between the protector and the protected," Rodem begins, worryingly serious. "You knew this day would come where she would wed. But I know it doesn't make it any easier."

I shrug, feigning indifference. "It was never difficult."

Rodem furrows his bushy brows.

Adalia's frame beckons my attention, a trail of regal red cascading from her figure. My father is right. It is dangerous to want. To hunger for what towers above is to risk being crushed beneath its weight. To covet the stars invites the abyss that pulls me under. But a small part of me still wanders... What if? I have never tried to interpret the contents of my heart. All I know is what I know, and what she means to me.

My thoughts are struck by the sound of trumpets. Another noble. But I'm wrong. A group of foreign nobles make their way, bearing the colours of the Empire. Rodem jostles me with disbelief, as if I can't see them for myself. King Caldor opens with a nerve-wracking speech about... new eras... the end of tenuous peace; announcing the union between the crown prince of the Empire and Princess Adalia.

I knew this would happen, that she would have to make some kind of arranged marriage for the good of the realm, but never would I dare to think she'd be wed to an Emperian. Even if it were a green-blooded Valarian, I would still feel the same. I knew this would happen. Nevertheless, my chest is burdened by the sudden unbearable weight of my own heart.

The nobles below flaunt a myriad of rich colours and fabrics. It is the Emperian dignitaries that stain the scene with their haunting-black attire. When the time comes for their first dance, the very air flees my lungs. Overcome by white-hot rage and the stinging twinge of anguish as I watch them dance, their movement so organic as if they've been in each other's arms before, as if they are newlyweds who have chosen each other. Absolutely excruciating.

On its own volition, my fist smacks the railing; it creaks—the wood splinters, leaving a cracked dent.

"Zenon?"

I string up an excuse. "I'm going to go do a sweep."

"There are already dozens of guards patrolling the perimeter?"

I turn abruptly, descending the stairwell and leaving him in a stunned silence. Overwrought by an inner upheaval, my insides knotted. I find myself outside on the outdoor deck, just beyond the ballroom. I hunch over the railing, looking aimlessly into the distance, the night dark and the moon forlorn in the starless sky. My head whips to the right. The side door bursts open and a red flame rushes out.

Adalia.

As if hearing her name in my heart. She looks right at me.

"Shouldn't you be dancing with the prince?"

"Shouldn't you be watching me do so?"

I love that tongue of hers. I wonder what else it can do. I evict that thought from my mind. She ambles down the expansive wide steps and looks back at me invitingly, gathering the skirt of her gown as she struts down. Each step poised with elegance.

"Usually, I like it when your eyes are on me. But today I think I prefer your body next to mine, my shadow."

I go where I belong, claiming her right side. She and I stroll through the garden, bordered by the tall hedges of the maze, walls of impeccably trimmed foliage. Even amid the gloom, Adalia's presence illuminates the expanse, brighter than a thousand stars, expelling the very darkness.

"You have not said a single word."

"Neither have you," I retort.

"I just did," she said, her face aglow with a smile, features soaking in the starlight.

I kick the words out. "How… how is he?"

Adalia peers over at me, idle raven strands frame her face. She looks forward, her expression suddenly grim. "He is… a silver tongue. Seemingly charming, which makes me loathe him even more. His condescension hidden well under the shoal of indulgence."

"So you are not fond of him?"

She purses her orchid-pink lips and her lips stretch into a prim smile. "If I was and was not. It makes no difference, my shadow. He will soon be my husband."

The word punctures my chest, causing my heart to hemorrhage. So much so I cannot hide my discontent. Her gaze skitters to me, pilfering uncomfortable glances. She clears her throat many times.

"I'm not concerned. One day, a tragic incident may befall our future king."

I suppress a smile.

"I do not wish to dwell on the matter. Let us speak on anything else."

"Such as?"

"Such as Earl Quinton proposing to Cassia!"

I look back at her with raised brows. "Truly?"

Taking pride in her friend's good fortune, her lips curve in a grin in shared excitement and Joy engulfs me. 

"It's wonderful, Zenny. Truly, wonderful." She lifts her hand to squeeze my arm enthusiastically as I ignore the peal of tingling sensations. "They are both here tonight and I implored her to occupy her room in the castle so we can plan our ceremonies together. My wedding is a political catalyst, a formality. Cassia's wedding is one made of true love, desire and unrequited passion. I will spare no expense for her celebration. I will not have my happy ending, but I will ensure that she has hers."

"You will find happiness." My words barely a whisper.

"Never with him." An unrecognisable expression hardens her delicate features. "However, a noblewoman was inquiring about your whereabouts. About the same time, I fled the ballroom like it was on fire."

I release a light-hearted laugh. Barely able to conceal my euphoria, too large to hide and too deep to locate its end nor its beginning. She's jealous. She's actually jealous.

"Lady Elvine," she drags out. "She wondered about your status."

I bask in the moment, revelling in the sight of the red in her eyes.

A grin breaks free and I look forward. "My status is of no concern."

"Your line must endure, Vicrium Zenon." I hate it when she calls me by my title, reminding me of my place. "One day, you must take a wife. And she is of noble birth, fair and wealthy. So I sang your praises, boasting of your achievements and valour. If she wasn't smitten then, she is besotted now."

"You flatter me, princess." I take my time to observe her queenly figure, no longer awkward and skinny but full and ripe for the taking. "But I hold no interest in her. Or any other. Only one. A girl I knew."

"Is that so?" An inflection in her voice. "What did she look like?"

"Free," I say candidly. "A girl who was of the wind. Who no one knew where she came nor where she went. She was fire, beautiful to behold and dangerous to touch."

Adalia's face flushes with a rosy red. "She sounds quite… fascinating."

"She was."

"She was?" A fierce shift in her tone. "And what do you mean by that?"

"A dull moment can never occur with her," I concede. My hands clasped behind my back. "But duties weigh heavy on her."

Her puffy lips tear open, only to slowly draw back close.

"Do not turn this on me because you seek to obscure your own truth." She stops us so she can incline her head at me with innate imperialism. "You can just admit it."

"Admit what?" I say obstinately.

She laughs half-heartedly, casting her gaze afar. "Nothing worth mentioning."

Something wretched takes a hold of me. Something as unwanted, uncontrollable, and as poisonous as a sickness.

"I concur. There is nothing more to be said between a future queen and her oathman."

Hurt sparks in her eyes. Zenon, you fool.

"You are more than my—how could you even say that?"

"That is the truth, Your Grace," I say with surprising calm, a delivery so detached.

"The truth?" She repeats, ire flooding her voice. "You think our life together has meant so little to me? You have been at my side since I can remember, as constant as the sea and the stars. You probably know me better than I, and you are foolish enough to question your worth to me? You are everything to me."

Shock seizes a breath from my lungs.

Her eyes fill their sockets, wide and glassy. "The bottled resentment you bore me is not my doing. I have no choice over what happens to me," she whispers harshly. "And whatever leeway of choice I possess, Valaria must always come first. The counsel I keep, the entire court watching, circling me; vultures study my every move. Enemies abroad and near, ready to attack at the mere whiff of weakness. I have no control over my life because all the decisions have been made for me. I am a future queen with no true power. A figurehead reduced to a symbol."

I suffocate on my words I wish to say, clamping my jaw.

"And how dare you?" Anger flares in her eyes. "How can you discredit my feelings towards you so? You know nothing of my heart. Then perhaps I stand firm in my error. And we do not know each other at all because the Zenon I know, would never question my care for him, my—my dearest friend. The world may proceed to care about one's station, but I do not."

Torn between hybrid sentiments of relief and disappointment. I manage a few words of folly.

"You care for me?" I ask only to hear her say it again.

"You know I do."

I nod slowly. An audacious idea plants itself in my mind.

"Prove it."

Her eyes bulge out. "What?"

"Prove it," I brazenly repeat. "Race me." A daring smile tugs at my lips. I look down the path and spot a tiered fountain at the end, spurting cascades of twinkling waters. "Until that fountain… unless you're too scared of messing that fancy gown. Or is your ego still bruised from the last time I defeated you?"

"The last time you dared to challenge me, I was a child and as you can see. I am a child no longer." Her eyes tighten into a shocked glare. "I may regard you as my closest companion, but never forget to whom you speak. I am the future queen, who cannot be seen mucking about like an uncouth ruffian."

I sniff sharply, tearing my gaze away. "It was my mistake—"

"Yes, it was," she says sternly. "Do not ever think that you can get away with claiming that you could ever… defeat me in a race."

I frown, flinging my gaze back at her. Her face thaws into a whimsical smile, winking at me before she turns and dashes to the fountain.

I explode into laughter. "You are a cheat."

"And you are behind!" she yells back.

I break into a sprint as her crimson gown hampers her speed. I easily catch up to her, but I decelerate to give her the illusion of victory. But when she nears the fountain, I capture her from behind, twirling her into my embrace—stealing a breath. Her feet reunite with the ground, giggling as she swivels to face me. 

The chorus of her laugh fades as she comes infinitesimally closer.

"I thought… the point of the game was to race," she says, our faces so close, we share each other's breaths, and her scent is sweet like nectarine.

"And yet… I decided to claim my prize early."

Her gaze slips to my lips... lingering... for a long time. And a violent wrench of want makes me ache from restrained yearning, throbbing with raw and primal longing, craving more than ever to give flesh to my every desire of her.

"Princess Adalia."

We rip apart. The abrupt absence of her cuts deep.

Rodem peels from the shadows. His hulkish form appears from the other side of the fountain, with two guards at his flanks. His arms are folded behind his leather jerkin with an impassive expression on his face.

"Your Grace, your whereabouts have been questioned. A mutual concern from both your father and your betrothal." He utters the last word with deliberate emphasis as if fashioned to wound me. "And Lady Cassia wishes to present her fiancé's family to you."

Adalia muses her hair, the light in her eyes bedimmed. "Right, of course."

Rodem jerks his chin, and my men move to escort the princess, but he remains exactly where he stands. Adalia spares me one last, long, rueful look before she forces herself onwards.

I fix my attention on Rodem.

"If the princess's governess could see you now, she would take your hands."

We stand toe-to-toe, a brawl brewing in both of our eyes.

"Did you—"

"I did not," I groan torturously as I shove him a step back without effort. "I would never."

Rodem snorts a laugh, and he covers his grin with his fist. "You looked like you wanted to take her in this very garden, so—"

I grimace, waving him off dismissively. "You will hold your tongue or see it cut. I know my place. You will do well to remember yours."

He stands at attention and gives me a mock salute. "Aye, Vicrium Zenon."

"Do not call me that," I mutter.

"Why, it is your title, is it not?"

I walk away. "Coming from you, it sounds insulting."

Rodem comes to my side and hooks his arm around my neck. "Once the princess is secure. Why don't we abscond to the Blue Crow? So you can drown your sorrows. Perhaps find some female companionship to help you forget about your royal woes."

I remove his arm with harsh haste. "Do not assume my pain, for I bear none."

He surprises me with a halting hand to my chest. "Everyone sees it. But you. You live in denial—"

"I live in acceptance," I snap, struggling against my anger. "My feelings are irrelevant. They will not change our fate, for it was written long before. I have made peace with that truth. But why should I entertain another woman, knowing that every single one will fall short of her glory. She is unassailable. If I cannot have her, I will have no one else."