HIS FUTURE BRIDEI
n the kingdom of Navia, Callan rose from the bed when he couldn’t sleep anymore. He was sweating profusely from the nightmare he had just had. Bits and pieces of images hadn’t made sense, filled with screams and human torture. He knew it was slavery, and that was one thing he knew for sure about himself: He was a slave and they left him to die.
A young woman saved him somehow by bringing him to this kingdom. A privileged woman in this kingdom had been dedicated to taking care of him. He knew her as ‘Lady’. He addressed her as ‘My lady’ because he didn’t know her name. She came here often with her personal maid, bringing him food and herbs and helping him.
He would forever be grateful to her, even though he hadn’t seen her in a long while. She stopped coming around one day, and only recently, he found out that she was the princess of this kingdom. She went to another kingdom to court her suitor.
He strode towards the window and looked out into the dark. His house was isolated from most houses because he didn’t like noise and disturbances. He built this small house here five years ago and liked it.
Crossing his arms, he watched the night and allowed his mind to wander where he never allowed it to do so before. My lady. He wondered how she was. Did she have a good suitor who would take good care of her? She was a good woman—the best he had seen among privileged women—and he was surprised when he found out that she was a princess.
She wasn’t spoilt, mean, or wicked like other princesses he had heard about. Instead, she was cool, reserved, and an elegant lady. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. It had been a long time, but he still couldn’t forget what she looked like and what her smile was like.
He’d wondered time and again why a woman like her would mingle with the likes of him, and always, he got no answer. She’d seen a peasant like him almost dying at the side of the road five years ago, with no memories of his past and no name or identity. And yet, she’d gotten people to carry him to his homewhere she had been nursing him since.
Three women aided him and saved his life: a young woman from his own kingdom who gave him water to drink after they left him to die; the old woman whose chariot he’d hidden inside and drove all the way from his kingdom to this place; and his lady, Princess Kamara—the only princess of the kingdom of Navia, soon to be married to the king of Salem.
As Callan stood before the window, wondering how she was doing and her wellbeing, he heard that name again in his mind.
Declan.
He had been hearing that name since the night a man roared out that name in his nightmares. Was he Declan?
Who was that man? Why hadn’t he tried to look for him? Had he tried and hadn’t found him?
Who was that man?
Princess Kamara had gone to sleep when she was awakened and given the message about the king’s summons. Her heart raced in her chest. She knew she had exhausted her luck, and it was time to perform her duties.
Tears stung the back of her eyes as she got up and put on her robes. She made her way out of her chambers and started towards the king’s chambers.
It was well past midnight. She bypassed sleeping guards and a few guards on duty. Getting to his door, she paused and took a shaky breath. Then she knocked hesitantly.
Silence met her soft knock. She waited patiently, trying to still her racing heart and calm herself. Nerves racked her, and her eyes wouldn’t stop stinging.
“Come in,” came the deep voice of the king.
Kamara opened the door and entered his room. Inside, the king was seated behind his desk, writing on the scroll in front of him. It reminded her of her father, who was always writing when he wasn’t dealing with matters of the court and his people—when he wasn’t with her mother or listening to the advice of Mistress Donna.
“You summoned me, Your Highness.” Thankfully, her voice was calmer than she felt—the shivers working inside her had not reflected on it.
King Lucien looked up from the scroll towards her. “Give me a minute.” Those short-clipped words more than anything confirmed her fears: the king would take her to bed tonight.
“Take all the t-time you need, my king,” she whispered. Princess Kamara tried to pull herself together. It was just a coupling—nothing she hadn’t done before. She could survive the night. All she had to do was just to close her eyes and take it.
She walked on shaky legs to the bed and lowered herself on it. He continued writing while she sat down, her body racked with nerves. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say that he was also trying to delay their coupling.
The silence between them stretched. She heard only the cool breeze of the night.
Finally, the king placed the inked feather gently back into the lid and closed it, picked up the scroll, and began rolling it methodically, then set it on the desk.
The sound of a chair pulling back interrupted the silence of the night as the king got up and walk around his desk. He crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “Take off your clothes, Kamara.”
Kamara got up from the bed and began pulling off her clothes. Her hands were trembling, but she tried her best not to let her anxiety show. Taking off her robes, she stood in her flimsy nightwear and stared up at him.
The king wanted nothing more than to order her to the table and have her give her back to him. He wanted it swift and fast, to get it over with. He did not want to have to touch her or for her to touch him. He did not want anybody’s hands on him.