Fantasyland: Midnight Soul Part 1

MIDNIGHT SOUL.

Kristen Ashley.

Chapter One.

Wouldn't Even Blink.

Franka.

That day had been one I wished to quickly forget.

Indeed, the months since those witches took my Antoine had been time I wished I had the power to erase from my memory.

I had power.

I did not have that kind of power.

These thoughts on my mind, I moved down the hallway of the Winter Palace seeking my room where I planned to pull the cord, ring a servant and request several bottles of Fleuridian wine.

Wine might not make me forget, but I'd found of late that it served well to dull the pain.

I turned the corner, my eyes to my slippers, but my senses made me lift my gaze to the pa.s.sageway.

At what I saw, I halted and grew still, then slowly and quietly retraced my steps and ducked behind the corner, peering back around.

Oh my.

The Prince Noctorno of the other world was in the doorway to a bedchamber.

Although, he was not actually a prince. Not in this universe. Apparently they had very few princes in that other world. A world that existed on a parallel plane where all beings had twins to my own world.

This I thought was rather mad (everything about it, obviously), but with few princes, that meant there were few kings, so who ruled?

He reported that he was instead a member of the city guard, an occupation he referred to as being "a cop." A rather surprising statement considering all that was him.

He was no member of a guard.

He was a prince.

And he called himself Noc for some unknown reason, as Noctorno was a fine name, a strong name, a regal name (this last was true as his counterpart in this world was a prince).

And right now, he had his back to me.

He was wearing a pair of trousers the like that couldn't be found in my world. They were made of a rough, st.u.r.dy, faded-blue material. He also had a s.h.i.+rt that was not the fas.h.i.+on in this world. It was attractive and made of an equally attractive plaid. And it was a s.h.i.+rt that fit his broad shoulders magnificently.

His thick, black hair was untidy (this also attractive).

And I could see his light-blue eyes but only in my imagination as he had his back to me.

They were not eyes you were likely to forget. With his dark hair and skin browned in the sun, those eyes were deliciously striking.

There was a day, though now that day seemed lifetimes ago, when a sight such as Noctorno Hawthorne of another world (or indeed this one) would have caused me to have a much different reaction, not only to him, but to my plans for the imminent future.

That was before Antoine.

That was before I met the man who introduced me to, well...me.

Now I stood peeking around a corner, my body hidden (something I would never do before Antoine, unless it served a purpose of course), but it wouldn't matter if I was around the corner or dancing a jig in the corridor.

The two people standing in the doorway of the bedchamber just down the hall wouldn't know I was there unless I shouted.

For Noctorno of the other world was not alone.

He was standing with Circe. Circe of this world, my world, but she'd spirited herself through magic to the parallel universe and decided to stay.

She was facing Noctorno, and once I could tear my eyes from his shoulders, his hair, his a.r.s.e in those trousers, I looked at her face.

And again went still.

There was much I read in her look.

I was Franka Drakkar of the House of Drakkar. And if any member of the House of Drakkar was clever (and I was clever, very clever, but not clever enough), they learned early how to take in anything they could in order to read a situation and then manipulate it to their advantage.

Therefore, I saw the sated look on her face, and I knew why Noctorno was standing there in her bedchamber door, his big body loose, relaxed, his hand lifting so he could gently stroke her jaw with his thumb.

And what I knew as I watched this was that they'd just had relations, and at least for Circe now of the other world, she'd enjoyed it.

Greatly.

But there was more to her look. More that would have given me, the woman I used to be, everything I needed to cut her to the quick for social sport, or bring her low in order to cow her to my every whim.

Relief. Acute relief.

And grat.i.tude. Extreme grat.i.tude.

I felt something stirring in the region of my belly, looking at her lovely face, knowing her story.

Knowing how she'd been misused since she was a child. Her parents slaughtered by a king who then made her his plaything in all the ways he could do that, every one of them despicable. Knowing of her escape from his captivity, which only brought her into the hands of pirates (and further misuse). Knowing her exceptionally unfortunate luck took her from said pirates to the savage land of Korwahk where she was entered into the Wife Hunt-a heinous practice, its simple name stating exactly what it was, if not relaying the information that when the "wives" were captured, they were violated.

Awaiting the Hunt, that had been the end for her. She'd used her considerable magic, all of it, and sent herself to a different realm. Another world. That parallel universe. One, from the snippets I'd heard, that was very different from my own.

Circe had exchanged herself for her twin. And the Circe of the other world was now the Golden Warrior Queen of Korwahk, beloved, even revered, not only by her people but her husband, King Lahn.

No one would know if the Circe I saw now, standing with Noctorno, would have earned that adoration from a ruler and his people if she'd chosen to remain after all that had befallen her since childhood.

Therefore it didn't matter.

Now was now.

And that very day, the evil triumvirate of witches that threatened two continents had all been dispatched.

Executed.

This made it safe for the most powerful men on those two continents to live out their days in harmony with the loves they'd found across universes.

Found them and impregnated them.

All four of them.

It was the way of men.

Quite tedious. Lay claim and then lay claim: planting their seed so they could bind their women to the servitude of motherhood and the men could live eternal through their sp.a.w.n.

As far as I knew (and I was not privy to much), none of these men (save Frey Drakkar, my cousin) had been with their loves for more than a few years (and in some cases it was only months).

And yet all the women were expecting; three of them with their second child.

This had naught to do with me.

I was going to drink wine. Sleep. Wake.

Leave.

I tried not to be in Lunwyn-my icy country, my beautiful home-very often. Not only because, to many of those I knew, I wasn't welcome.

Even so, I didn't wish to return to Fleuridia where I had apartments and spent most of my time either.

They were apartments I'd shared with Antoine.

I needed to be rid of them.

Where I would go, I had no idea.

Of course, it was a must I first visit with Kristian, my brother, who, after what I was forced to do in the hopes of saving my lover, had suffered.

My brother was bountiful of heart but weak of character. He needed looking after. He needed protecting.

I'd see to him.

As I always did.

Then...

I had no idea.

But now was not the time to decide that.

Now, as I stood watching Circe press her jaw into Noctorno's touch, I knew he'd taken care of her. In so doing, I knew he'd been immensely gentle, took great amounts of time and paid tremendous attention.

All of this I understood from the replete expression on her face.

The relief I witnessed in her visage was likely, after all she'd endured, that she didn't think any man could offer that kind of pleasure and she was delighted to know they could.

The grat.i.tude was not for the gentleness, time, attention and the undoubted climax he'd given her.

It was simply for him being him.

The kind of man who had all of that in him.

One man in billions.

In two universes.

My vision went hazy as memories flitted through my brain.

I closed my eyes at the colossal pain those memories caused.

I had that, didn't I, my love. We had that. Didn't we? I grew uneasy even through the pain, wracked with uncertainty. Did I give you that, my Antoine?

As had been the case every time I sent my messages blindly to the G.o.ds in hopes they'd feel generous and send them where they were meant to be received, even before he expired after enduring such cruelty, I had no reply.

I couldn't allow the images the witches had sent of his torture to come to my mind's eye. If I did, it would be crippling. So I only let them through when I was alone at night in bed and could be crippled by them, tossing and turning, sleepless for hours.

Days.

Weeks.

I opened my eyes and, again swiftly and quietly, turned and made my way back down the hall, leaving Circe and Noctorno to their moment.

As I did this, I felt my lips curl in a scornful smirk.

Look what's become of me, Antoine. I called out silently to the ether. Walking away from that touching scene without even catching Circe's eyes to share I'd seen what I'd seen and I knew what I knew. You did this to me, mon cur. I must get back to who I am. If only to have something diverting in the years to come that don't have you in them.

I halted again, halfway down the pa.s.sageway, when Antoine's deep, polished voice sounded in my head in answer.

That is not you, mon ange, and I would be most annoyed if you went back to impersonating that woman you never were.

Mon ange, his angel.

All those months we'd spent together...