Prologue
“Father? What’s going on?”
The fair-haired fourteen year old stood in the shadowy doorway of her home, her nightgown rippling slightly with a brush of a cool fall breeze. Her home was small, just a square, grey, room—hardly big enough for the four people who lived inside. But no one else had awoken when a sharp rapping was made on the door, and no one else had seen her father quietly slip outside into the night.
“Go back to bed, Adya.” The reply was gentle, as her father always was, but firm. In the dim moonlight she could barely make out his face. He looked younger than he was, with hair the same fair golden color as Adya’s, and his eyes a bright blue. They usually shone, as if he were telling a joke, but right now they looked worried and bleak, emphasized by the moonlight that seemed to be caught in them.
“Adya. Go to bed,” he repeated when she did not immediately obey his request. Adya frowned. There was panic in his voice, though it would be well concealed from anyone who did not know her father well. The notion of her father fearing anything confused her. She lifted her eyes from her father’s warm, familiar face, and looked into the blackness surrounding him. It was only then that she noticed her father’s company.
“Who are these people?” Adya asked, her voice wavering slightly from a fear she couldn’t identify. Of course, even as the question left her lips the answer came to her mind. She knew who they were. They were soldiers of the King.
‘But something’s not right about them,’ she thought, gazing at the six figures surrounding her father in a semi-circle. Involuntarily, drawn by curiosity, she took a step towards them. She stared at the figures intently. What was different about these soldiers? First of all, their armor was black instead of the crimson the other soldiers wore—it was black as a river in the middle of the night, and Adya couldn’t look away.
All was silent, and no one moved as Adya studied the soldiers. There were metal-slated covers over their eyes. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. She liked to look into people’s eyes. “Eyes are the looking glass into a person’s soul,” her father always told her. The soldier she was staring at stood stock still as Adya bored her eyes into the blackness where his should be. She stared at the man for a moment before realizing something. She could see his eyes. Her brow furrowed again. The man’s eyes were black. All of the strange soldier’s eyes were black.
Adya took another step forward, trying to get a better look at the entrancing eyes. In the background of her thoughts she heard her father telling her to get inside, but the eyes . . . they were over powering. Then, suddenly, the eyes she was staring into erupted into flame, no longer black but orange—brilliant, terrifying orange. Adya jumped in shock and horror as all around her the soldiers dark eyes burst into the same orange flame.
Her scream caught in her throat as an oily, deep voice spoke from behind the soldiers. “Grab her.”
The soldier she had been staring at stepped forward so quickly that Adya hadn’t realized what happened until she was locked in his iron grasp; a cold, black metal arm wound around her neck, pressing icy and hard into her throat, while his other hand held both of hers behind her back.
She did not even have time to think of screaming, and there was no prayer she would be able to do so now, with all the air forced from her lungs.
“Let her go!” she heard her father yell, and she saw him launch himself towards the soldier. Grey dots were beginning to appear at the corners of her vision as her body began to scream, demanding air. She turned her sight towards the heavens. Air—sweet, pure air—surrounded her, and yet she couldn’t breathe. Another cool breeze stirred her nightgown and licked at her cheeks, mocking her. She began to struggle uselessly against the cruel soldier’s iron grip, which tightened around her neck whenever she moved. This strange soldier was killing her.
Suddenly a heavy blackness began to press down on her shoulder, onto her chest, and began crowding her mind. Lethargy washed through her . . . How easy it would be to just let go, slip away into this blackness.
“Let her go!” Her father’s distressed cry drew her scattered oxygen-deprived mind back to the dark street. He was on his knees, two soldiers grasping his arms. “Loosen your grip! You’re killing her.” His voice was a strange mixture of rage, despair, desperation, and authority.
The blackness now covered most of her sight and only a small slit of grayness remained. Adya felt her legs give way beneath her, but held by the guard her limp body remained upright. She felt numb and cold, yet oddly peaceful. It would all be over soon.
“Loosen your hold.”
The velvety voice that had given the order to grab her in the first place sounded soft and far away. The words he spoke did not register in Adya’s mind, but she felt her body—now out of her control—convulse violently as the soldier’s stranglehold loosened.
Adya drank in the night air in large gulps, her entire weight still supported by the demon soldier. After a few moments her vision cleared and feeling began to return to her limbs, but she still hung limp in the soldier’s hands. Forcing him to hold her up, made her feel a small, miniscule, vindictive satisfaction.
“Let her go.”
The command by the oily, snakelike voice, and response were so quick that Adya was caught off guard by the sudden absence of support. She crashed into the ground hard, smacking her head on the cold stone of the street. For a long time she lay there, debating whether to get up or not. Maybe she could pretend she had been knocked out by the fall. But unexpectedly a shadow was above her, staring into her wide-open, shocked eyes. For a moment, she felt warmth rush through her, thinking it was her father.
“Get up,” the stranger above her commanded, and her heart and body froze. It was the voice that had been giving orders to these strange soldiers.
“Did you not hear me? Get up!” The man, so used to his orders being followed through immediately, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her onto her feet. Adya cried out in pain, and barely managed to stay upright through the throbbing in her scalp.
Adya gasped, getting her first real look at the man standing in front of her, his hands still tangled in her hair. He was very tall, towering over her by about a foot. His clothes were elegant and Adya immediately recognized they were the highest quality the kingdom could offer. His hair was cut close to his head, and it was a dark black. A prickly beard and moustache were beginning to show, covering the strong, square jaw line of royalty.
The King’s eyes never left Adya’s as he spoke, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. They were the oddest color she had ever seen; even stranger than the soldier’s eyes. His eyes were purple; such a dark purple that she almost thought they were black.
Adya shuddered. She thought she had felt real fear at the soldier’s eyes, but that was nothing to the feeling of horror, despair, and dread that shook her from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair, which were still being yanked by his hard hand.
“What is your name, girl?” he asked, staring carefully at her face. True curiosity colored his tone while his eyes burned intensely with something Adya did not quite recognize.
Adya couldn’t answer, fear constricting her chest, making breathing difficult. It was as if the demon soldier was strangling her again.
“Girl, what is your name?” he repeated his question, shaking the fist wound into her hair. Adya whimpered, shutting her eyes. This had to be a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.
“Do not try my patience, unless you would like to be dealt with by my soldiers.” The King’s voice sounded right next to her ear, cold breath tickling her ear, but the threat in his voice was what made her shiver. She opened her eyes, to find the King leaning in, his cheek just inches from hers, whispering in her ear. “Now tell me your name.”
“Adya,” she whispered while she fought a shudder. She could hear the King breathing loudly right next to her ear, breathing her in.
“Adya.” He repeated loudly, drawing away from her after taking one last inconspicuous whiff of her hair before releasing it from his iron grasp. She shut her eyes, trying not to concentrate on the burning of her scalp.
“How old are you?”
Adya opened her eyes. The King was staring at her with the same strange look as before. His purple eyes were boring into hers, and no matter how much she wanted to, Adya could not look away.
“Fourteen . . .” she replied, still whispering. Why was he questioning her like this?
‘Just kill me,’ she thought, ‘Get it over quickly.’
“You are very beautiful for fourteen.” he said, reaching his hand out to stroke her on the cheek. “I wonder how you’ll turn out. . .” And the strange purple eyes did look curious, but beyond the curiosity Adya saw something burning, and finally her mind came up with the words to describe how he had been looking at her. Want . . . need . . . lust. . .
She reached up to slap his hand away from her cheek, her clear blue eyes locked on his dark violet, but the King quickly grabbed it, and held it firmly in his hands. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours but could only be seconds, malice and fear on Adya’s face, lust and greed on the King’s.
“LET GO OF HER!” The sudden scream of fury broke the hypnotic gaze of the King’s eyes, and Adya looked past the ruler to her father, fighting violently against the two guards who still held him. Adya frowned. She had almost forgotten her father was there, almost forgotten that whatever these men were doing here had to do with him, not Adya.
“Take him.” The King’s voice was flat, ice cold. The soldier’s nodded, and began dragging Adya’s father away.
“NO!”
She tried to push past the King, to run to her father, but he held her firmly in his iron grip. She could just barely make her father out in the darkness, surrounded by the black guards. He was kicking and Adya could hear his screams echoing in the street, though it seemed muffled by the darkness. One of the black figures hands rose and quickly came down on her father’s head. His body went limp, and no more screams escaped his mouth.
“NO!” she screamed again, trying futilely to get past the King, standing like a brick wall between her and her father. If only she could make enough noise, attract some attention. But no one would come to her aid once they knew who it was causing the mayhem.
Adya saw it before she felt it—the King’s large hand rushing towards her in the darkness. Suddenly, a bright light flashed in front of her eyes, and Adya fell to the ground, the force of the slap knocking her down. Her hand reached automatically up to her face. Her cheek was on fire.
Adya looked up into the eyes of the man towering over her, the man stealing her father. Her angry helpless tears began to spill. Even though her vision was blurred Adya could see the King’s face was dark, maliciousness seeping from every pore. His eyes were dark and hard.
Swiftly, he bent down on one knee to twine his fingers in her hair once more, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I will have you.”
She felt him breathing her in once again, and her sobbing deepened, fueled by loss, fear, and the frustratingly sad feeling of weakness. Finally, he released her hair from his hands and stood up. The dark purple eyes bored down on her. “Four years," he whispered, melting into the darkness.
