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Red Crown: Episode 8 (Cries in the Wind)

Natalya didn’t stay at Castle Kroestov as she had originally intended. Instead she returned to the comfort of The Hand as quickly as she could without raising suspicions. Before she left she managed to find a moment alone with Annabelle.

“What are you doing here?” Natalya spat, pulling Annabelle to the corner of the room so they could speak privately.

“Francesca met your king and found herself quite besotted with him.”

“They will burn the both of you. It’s too dangerous here. They are hunting witches. Leave whilst you still can,” Natalya tried to warn.

Annabelle’s lip curled. She raised her eyebrows and her eyes clouded over with bemusement.

“They will never catch us,” she stated confidently.

Natalya looked across the room to where Roman was standing with Francesca on his arm. The king was busy talking with his cousin. Francesca returned her look. A self satisfied smile was printed on her rose coloured lips.

“I was supposed to be queen,” she grumbled.

Annabelle interjected. “I was led to be believe you wanted our help because your husband was a violent piece of shit.”

Natalya turned her attention back to the witch.

“He is,” she said. “He was,” she corrected. “Where is he?” she asked.

Annabelle shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps she devoured him herself. Maybe she is keeping him in a state of torture the likes of which you couldn’t imagine so she can feed off his pain for an eternity. Or perhaps she fed him to one of her pets for amusement. That is what she did to her brother, her twin.”

Annabelle lowered her voice. Her tone was low and ominous. “Francesca has decided to make this kingdom her home. Whatever she wants she will have no matter the consequences. She destroyed everything I had. My friends, my home are all gone. All is lost and I am bound to her forever. You have no idea what you are dealing with in her. You can still leave. Go home. Stay there.”

At that Annabelle pushed passed Natalya with a brush of her broad shoulders.

***

Natalya slept with Charles close to her that night. She couldn’t bear to be parted from him. Hearing him wheeze and gurn in his crib comforted her. Even if Roman was willing to recognise Charles as his son Francesca wouldn’t allow it. She had Castle Kroestov now and so the keys of the kingdom. If Francesca produced legitimate royal children Charles would be all but forgotten. She had deluded herself into thinking she and Roman could live happily together. Before he met Francesca, Roman had offered to abdicate so they could raise Charles together. Now it seemed he was so bewitched by his bride to be that couldn’t see the danger she brought with her.

Charles began to cry. She climbed out of bed and lifted him into her arms. The large floor to ceiling windows allowed the silvery glow of a fat moon to splash onto the ground. Charles settled and turned towards her breast.

“Put the child down,” she heard a voice urge whisper.

Perhaps it was the wind she surmised.

“Put it down,” the voice repeated.

The handle on the doors of her chambers rattled. She gently placed Charles back in his crib. As she approached the door she heard footsteps scurrying down the hall like those of an excited child. She shivered. She felt the lock and found the door closed tight.

There was a giggle. There was no mistaking it this time. It was that of a young girl. In a panic Natalya ran to Charles. The glass from the window shattered outwards as though someone had leapt through it. Natalya tried to snatch her baby but she felt her feet dragged across the floor. The pull on her feet caused her to lurch forward and her head hit heavily on the hard, wooden floor. She was dragged to the window ledge. She tried to crawl against the first but her nails snapped against pressure. She screamed but her wails were muffled by the strong wind that was gathering.

You helped the witch,

You fed the bitch,

You can’t lie,

for that you die.

Natalya heard the girlish voice sing as though it was part of a nursery rhyme. She was pulled onto her feet like a puppet on a string. She was turned to see the rocky death that waited below.

“Bye, bye,” called the invisible girl child.

Natalya was thrown from her window. As she plummeted to her end her last thoughts were of the infant. The prince that should have been.

***

“It’s my fault,” Roman cried. “She needed me. I should have been there for her.”

Justus shook his head. “If we were granted the gift of foresight a lot of cruelty in this world could be avoided, Majesty. You weren’t to know what Natalya would do. We can only mourn those we lose.”

The king was strangely comforted by the Susinamian’s words. Since meeting the boy Roman was impressed by his obvious intelligence, so much so he removed him from slavery and entrusted him with a position by his side.

“She must have been so worried about her husband even though he didn’t deserve it,” remarked Roman. “I can’t believe she would take her own life and leave Charles behind though.”

He lifted a goblet of wine from the table in the centre of the room. He drank some of It but it was too bitter to his taste. “What will happen to my nephew now?” he asked.

“He is Lord of The Hand now. He will be taken care of by the staff until he comes of age,” Justus informed him.

“I want to make sure he has everything he needs,” stated the King.

Justus bowed in agreement. “You are a most generous uncle.”

Roman hadn’t disclosed Charles’ true parentage to his adviser. Despite the castle being alive with rumours there were some secrets he wanted to take to his grave.

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Red Crown: Episode 7 (The Forgotten Child)

The greater part of a year passed like a snow drift – magical, surreal. Natalya remained at The Hand where she gave birth to a son. He was named Charles. She had written to the king and at first he enthusiastically replied. As time passed his replies became less frequent. Eventually Count Vasinov began replying on the king’s behalf. Roman had been so consumed by a visit to the southern kingdom of Susiname but Natalya was assured of the his affections.

Count Vasinov wrote, ‘His Majesty thinks of you often and fondly but for the time being it is best you remain at The Hand with Charles. The king will look in upon his nephew as soon as he can.’

Roman returned from Susiname and more months passed. Charles was growing fast. He had Roman’s long nose and warm smile as well as the same dark brown curls. He had Jerome’s temperament though. He cried ceaselessly.

Finally, the day came that Charles reached the age of four months. A letter came for Natalya inviting her to the castle. It wasn’t a hand written request from Roman with the usual romantic flare. It was a formal invitation, addressing her as a member of the court. Nothing more. She accepted the invitation in the hope that in after their long separation Roman would be glad to see her and Charles whom he was yet to meet.

Upon her arrival at Castle Kroestov, Natalya wasn’t greeted by Roman personally. Instead she was escorted to the Great Hall carrying her baby in her arms.

The court was gathered. A great excitement had washed over them.

“What’s all the fuss?” Natalya asked Countess Vorgovna. “

Vorgovna raised her eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “The king is engaged to be married. We’re going to have a new queen.”

Natalya’s mouth opened in horror. She clutched her arms around Charles who wriggled against her.

Sonya Vorgovna continued, “I’m surprised you weren’t the first to know. You always seemed to be a close confidante of His Majesty. It seems ever since you were with child you have been distant.”

Natalya glared at Sonya. “What are you suggesting?”

Countess Vorgovna sneered. “Nothing at all my dear. You are sensitive.” She reached a long finger out and tickled the corner of Charles’ upper lip. Charles remained expressionless.

“He doesn’t look much like Jerome, does he? Shouldn’t you have left him with a wet nurse?”

Natalya ignored the comment.

“Who is the king’s bride?” she asked.

“Some woman from one of the villages. They say she is something of a queen amongst her people so I guess it is appropriate. Why don’t you go and see for yourself. I know His Majesty would is excited to meet his nephew.”

Natalya ignored her again. She was more consumed with meeting Roman’s betrothed.

She pushed her way to the farther end of room where she found Roman laughing with Vasinov. His whole face brightened upon seeing her.

“Natalya!” he cried. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long,” he declared. The king took Charles from her arms and cradled him in his own. “You must be Charles.” Roman addressed the infant. Charles smiled in return.

“Susiname seems to have agreed with you, Your Majesty.”

“It did,” Roman replied. “Ever since I returned I have had a clear mind.”

Vasinov eyed Charles with what Natalya could see was a little suspicion.

There was another man with them. He was tall and strong and with a square set jaw. He had the smooth, black skin found in Susiname.

“This is Justus,” Roman introduced. “He has been invaluable to me and partly the reason why I am so clear headed.”

Justus, a young man of around twenty years, gave a curt nod.

“Shame on you Majesty,” Vasinov patted Roman’s arm. “I think the Countess may be more interested in meeting the woman you intend on taking as your bride.”

“Of course,” Roman cheered. He turned and a group parted. “This is my bride to be. She will be a tremendous queen.”

Natalya was horrified. Stepping forth to take the king’s arm was the witch, Francesca. Her raven hair had been dressed. She wore a regal gown of royal blue silk, laced with jewels. Beside her, in much less finery was Annabelle.

Francesca reached out her hand and took Natalya’s. It was ice cold to touch.

“It’s a pleasure. Roman speaks of you so often,” she said. “I hear your husband is missing. That must be awful for you with such a small child to care for. If there is anything I can do to comfort you please let me know.”

“Isn’t she something?” Roman cried, completely besotted. “She will rule this kingdom by my side soon.”

Natalya was handed back her baby.

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Red Crown: Episode 6 (The Kingdom Burns)

Word of Jerome’s disappearance spread. The kingdom of Navaria became uneasy as rumours of witchcraft at The Hand circulated.

“Natalya is no more a witch than I am. She would have no dealings with one either,” King Roman dismissed.

“Pay no mind, Your Majesty,” Doctor Hogran advised. “I’m afraid your brother wasn’t of sound mind. Falling to madness isn’t uncommon in your lineage.

The doctor’s comforting words were interrupted by Count Vasinov. Roman managed a smile in greeting to his cousin.

“Majesty,” said Vasinov soberly. “A member of your court has been arrested.”

“My court?” he enquired. “Whatever for?” The king worried that the rumours had forced the guards to The Hand.

“Witchcraft,”

“And who is this alleged witch?”

A shadow fell over the king’s face. ‘Have they taken Natalya?’ he wondered.

The doors were opened and General Drenisov came forward holding Perrin in custody. Perrin’s long face was expressionless.

“What is the meaning of this?” Roman demanded to know.

Drenisov kept his head held high.

“This man is a witch,” the young general stated for all present to hear. There was an audible gasp among the court. A woman close to Vasniov covered her mouth.

“You had better have damn good evidence to support that accusation, boy,” Roman snarled. “That man is a respected member of this court.”

Keeping a hand on the prisoners shoulder, Drenisov turned to two of his comrades who had followed behind him carrying a large wooden box between them. The box itself had no particular value. The laid the box before the king and flipped open the lid. Inside were severed limbs of young children, no older than seven years.

Roman grimaced. Vasinov stared into the box with a morbid fascination.

“You expect me to believe my most trusted adviser is responsible for this? Perrin has been in service to my family for generations.”

The rest of the court had been shocked into silence.

Drenisov replied, “I was appointed to flush out every last witch from this kingdom. I’m afraid that includes those close to, Your Majesty. My proof is the confession he made.” Drenisov slipped his hand inside the red jacket of the Navarian Guard he wore and produced a letter. He flicked it open and King Roman noticed Perrin’s signature at the bottom of the confession immediately.

The king addressed Perrin. “Surely you would deny this?”

Perrin shook his head but his face remained stoic. The lines around his lips and eyes had deepened. He had always been so full of life but now he looked old.

“I am a witch, Majesty. I am a murderer of children.”

Roman cried out. “No! I do not accept your confession. You are innocent!”

A cloud of emotion finally broke through Perrin’s stony exterior. “It doesn’t matter.”

Drenisov spoke up again. “The penalty for this is death by burning,” he reminded his audience.

“I’m well aware,” Roman growled. “I will not permit this man to be put to death.”

Count Vasinov laid a comforting hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I know it isn’t an easy decision to make but someone must answer for the deaths of those children. You do the kingdom a disservice if you do not punish accordingly and the man has confessed.”

“Why would you do this?” Roman pleaded. Perrin said nothing. The king couldn’t allow his court to see him falling victim to his own emotions. “Take him away,” Roman ordered.

After Drenisov and his guards cleared the way chatter fell among the court again.

“An innocent man is being put to death,” stated the king to Vasinov.

“I didn’t hear him proclaim his innocence. The do say witches can disguise themselves and live among us,” Vasinov said matter of factly. “Something certainly caused Jerome to behave the way he did.”

Roman again thought of Natalya.

“My kingdom is infested by witches, the man I placed my full trust in is to be burned as one of them and my brother is missing in what can only be assumed is an absence of sanity. The woman I love can’t be by my side.”

Vasinov shook his head sympathetically.

“It’s all a great burden on you, Your Majesty.”

Roman agreed. “Maybe I will be the one insane before the end of it all.”

Vasinov laughed uncomfortable. “Let’s hope not.”

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Red Crown: Episode 5 (Justice In Death)

The Hand wasn’t the same place she remembered when she returned. It was no longer her childhood home that was full of laughter and memories. The memories the Countess had of her beloved parents before they died had grown morose in her absence. Doctor Hogran had waited on her returning to deliver news of her husband.

“Still no change doctor?” Natalya assumed.

The doctor raised his bushy, grey eyebrows. There was a hint of a smile on his face although he wasn’t sure if he was delivering good news or not.

“He’s made a remarkable recovery,” stated the doctor.

Natalya felt her breath tighten in her chest. She forced what felt like an expression of relief.

“That is good news doctor. We will forever be grateful to you.”

Doctor Hogran shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not sure how much help I was, Your Grace. There seemed to be some kind of mania over him that he came out of on his own.”

“Where is he?” she asked. “Is he comfortable?”

“He’s in your father’s study.” The doctor hesitated. “Although I would do well to remember it is no longer your father’s study.” He stopped her from making her way to Jerome. “I warn you, Your Grace, he is in a foul mood. It may be best to leave him alone for a while.”

“Have a safe journey back to town doctor,” Natalya dismissed him.

The serving girls were sent away and The Hand stood empty but for Jerome and his wife. He hadn’t left the study all evening so eventually she went to him.

She eased the door open with caution. Jerome was sat by the fire with his feet on the old Count’s chair.

“I wondered when you would come crawling back,” he growled.

“I was speaking at court on your behalf, my love,” she said calmly although she could feel her hands quiver.

“I’ll bet you were,” he said.

He turned away from her and lifted the iron rod and began prodding the logs on the fire.

“I’m so relieved to see you are well again,” she attempted.

Jerome sniggered. “I remember what you did to me,” he uttered coolly. “You are a witch.”

“Your illness has made you delirious,” Natalya returned quickly.

Jerome smiled but it was a wicked smile with malicious intent.

“I remember what you did to me witch!” he said. “Punishment in this kingdom for witchcraft is death and even your precious king can’t save you from that.”

“Maybe you are still delirious,” she started but before she could finish Jerome leapt to his feet.

“You fucking bitch!” he roared, swinging the iron at her.

Luckily Natalya ducked and avoided the blow. He ran at her but she retreated faster. She slammed the door behind her and ran to the gardens as quickly as she could. He was still too weak to pursue her.

He remained in the study. At first she couldn’t understand why but then it became apparent. He was a little afraid of her. This realisation gave her something of a grim satisfaction but it was fleeting. If he told anyone she would be put to death and he was right when he said even Roman couldn’t save her.

After pacing the gardens for a while and allowing her head to clear she returned to the study but rather than going in she put her ear to the door. He was stomping around, murmuring to himself angrily. He had been drinking again.

She knew The Hand far better than he did. The study could be locked from the outside. She retrieved the key that was very rarely used and locked the carved oak doors with her husband trapped. His angry mutterings stopped immediately when he heard the echoing click. As she walked away the realisation that he had been locked in ignited his fury and he pounded on the door with solid fists.

“Let me out of here witch!” he screamed.

The study was on the top floor of the tallest of the five towers that made up The Hand. The only means of escape would be for him to throw himself from the window to an almost certain death. Natalya had to seek help from the witch named Annabelle. Everything was quickly falling out of her control.

***

Natalya wandered the woods for hours. Her entire frame trembled with a cold that had dug deep into her bones. She cried out for Annabelle but there was no response.

“You call for Annabelle like she would help you.”

A woman, tall and slender with skin like porcelain was stood by the tree – Annabelle’s tree.

“She helped me before,” Natalya vouched.

The woman was striking. Her hair was thick and as black as ebony. It flowed freely to her waist, as straight and fine as a horses tail.

“She fooled you,” stated the raven haired beauty. “If you still seek her out she didn’t help you as well as she could.”

Natalya was drawn to the woman. She was like a work of art. An image that carried with it, so many stories.”

“Are you a witch?” Natalya asked. “Are you like Annabelle?”

The woman grinned. Her naturally rose coloured lips parted. For a moment Natalya thought the woman’s teeth were as sharp as needles.

“No one is like Annabelle,” she commented in something of a jest. “I’m not just a witch,” said the woman. “I’m the ruler of them. I’m like a Goddess to them. I have strength like no other.”

“What is your name?” asked the Countess.

“Francesca,” was the reply.

Natalya became aware of the cold again as an icy wind spread through the trees and snow began to fall.

“Will you help me? My husband is violent. I have to stop him. He was sedated for a while but he will hurt me. I fear he will even kill me.”

Francesca laughed. “Then why not just kill him? Murder is something you dwellers are capable of without witchcraft.”

“I couldn’t, not without help. Will you help me?” The desperation in Natalya’s voice was tangible.

Francesca sniffed the air as though the stench of the Countess’ fear was pleasing to her.

“I will help you if you give your husband’s body to me.”

Natalya agreed without question. “Thank you. I know you put yourself at great risk. Already they are burning witches in the kingdom.”

Francesca grinned. Again her teeth looked razor sharp.

“If they are able to be burned,” she commented. “Then they are no true witch.”

Natalya followed Francesca’s instruction to go home. She would know when it was done. Whatever that was.

***

Jerome had fallen asleep. The alcohol forced him into a slumber. When he woke again the fire had burned out. He shivered and his mouth was as dry as sand.

“Fucking bitch!” he grunted as he climbed to his feet and stumbled to the fire, lowered his trousers and urinated onto the embers. A crack of thunder caused him to wander to the window distractedly. He peered out into the night.

Natalya controlled the staff, she controlled The Hand. She could keep him there for as long as she wished. ‘Had she always been a witch?’ He wondered. Maybe he had imagined it. Perhaps his illness was taking its toll on him.

The thunder cracked again. He growled. He was Prince Jerome. He was the eldest child of King Roslow. He was the rightful ruler of Navaria. His power should not have been placed in the hands of his younger brother. He should not be a prisoner at the mercy of a woman.

The thunder brought a heavy rainfall with it. It patted against the windows like many tiny hands trying to get in.

Jerome felt a pain on his hand as though someone had cut him with a sharp but small blade. He looked at it. It was a small cut but it was bleeding heavily. He shook his hand and looked from the window again. The fain fall was so heavy now it was like a blanket of water across the land.

There was another cut but this time it was on his face. It felt a little larger and deeper than the first. He put the tips of his fingers to his face. When he removed them there was blood. There was another on his face and then on his neck. The cuts kept coming, deeper and bloodier. He pulled open his shirt to see more on his chest. A slash tore across his abdomen from an invisible blade.

The thunder roared like an uncontrollable beast. The rain lashed against the window like the whip of an angry master.

His vision cleared. The cutting stopped. There was a woman standing before him, more beautiful than any he had ever seen before. Her black tresses flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

He hadn’t heard her arrive. Perhaps the thunder had masked her footsteps.

“What do you want?” Jerome asked. The pain from the cuts still surged through his body. “Did my wife send you witch!?” He was quickly recovering his strength.

“You should be pleading for your life,” Francesca replied.

Her image was like a dream, as though she wasn’t actually there. She raised her hand and in a motion that resembled a swipe of a cat she clawed in front of her. Jerome felt three slashes across his face.

“Who are you?” asked Jerome, reaching for the fresh cuts.

“I am the last thing you are ever going to see on this mortal coil,” Francesca replied, sounding quite giddy. Her face held a mischievous grin.

He felt scratches across his back that tore the flesh away. He wailed and stumbled. He was face to face with Francesca again.

“I can just keep cutting you until you die,” she warned. She swiped her hands like claws and more tears formed on his arms.

“What do you want?” Jerome asked again. He knew calling for help would be of no use.

“A good hearty meal,” was Francesca’s reply.

Jerome was cut, cut and cut some more until eventually his skin was flayed.

The clock in the main tower where Natalya waited chimed ten. She heard Jerome’s tortured screams echo down to her. She listened with a mixture of horror and satisfaction. Eventually the screaming and the thunder stopped.

Natalya unlocked the doors to the study. She listened carefully first before opening. She braced herself for a horrific scene but there was nothing. Francesca was gone. Jerome was gone too. There was not a single trace of what had happened.

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Red Crown: Episode 4 (To the King a Son)

“I’m sure there are many places you would much rather be than here,”  said the king. “I fear you are starting to look old before your time.”

Perrin offered a smile to Roman. They were making their way to the main entrance of the castle. Perrin had plans to visit The Square – the central part of the Kingdom of Navaria which sat at the foot of the Rugintov Mountains upon which Castle Kroestov sat.

“I’m afraid when one reaches my years of service, Majesty, tiredness becomes the natural look.”

Roman laughed but a certain solemnity remained with him like a fine mist over a hill.

“My father always said that,” Roman replied, more to himself than his counsel.

When they reached the door Perrin stopped. The guards remained stationed.

“Your father was a wise man,” he stated sincerely. He lowered his voice. “I worry about you Roman,” he said.

“I try my best to follow my father’s example. I trust I haven’t given you cause for concern.”

Perrin observed the young king. He drew his finger along his white beard as he stroked his chin.

“I hear you are dining with the Countess Hargovna again. Is that wise?”

Roman patted Perrin’s shoulder good naturedly.

“You wished me to find a wife,” said the king. “Natalya is the best company of any woman in this kingdom.”

Perrin’s tone became serious. “She already is a wife. She is your brother’s wife,” he said. “She should be with her husband. People have been talking. Servants have seen her sneaking to warm your bed at night. You must tell her to return to The Hand and be by her husband’s side.”

Roman lost his usual jovial air. He was angered. “Let them  talk!” he spat. “If my bed where their concerns lie then the kingdom must be faring well otherwise. I will not send Natalya back to Jerome after what he did to her. He has a monster within him and the sooner it is dead, the better for all of us.”

“Hush your mouth!” Perrin barked. “Your father would be ashamed to hear you wish your brother dead.”

Roman glanced to  his guards who had reacted and back to his advisers.

“You were an invaluable member of my father’s court. You guided him faithfully for many years.”

Perrin bowed respectfully.

“But remember,” Roman continued. “This is not my father’s court, it is mine. If you ever forget your place again I will have you removed, permanently.”

Perrin sighed and stroked his beard again.

“My humblest apologies, Your Majesty. You must see that Natalya Hargovna can never be your queen.” When he gave no answer Perrin added, “If there ever was to be a downfall of your dynasty it would be through women.”

Roman laughed at this and found his good cheer again.

“My father always said that too. That’s why after mother died he took no other.”

Perrin smiled. “I know you love her but even a king doesn’t have the authority to come between a man and his wife. A marriage is a union before the Lords and Ladies above.”

At that Perrin approached the doors. The guards opened them for them. They were two young boys on their first assignment as part of The Guard.

Perrin disappeared into the dark, Navarian, early evening. Snow was beginning to fall and a wind whistled at the top of the mountains. By the time the door closed behind him, the king had already forgotten his advice.

***

Roman ate heartily that evening. A meal of beef, onions and potatoes was placed before him. Across the table from him Natalya was distractedly moving vegetables around her plate.

“Lost your appetite?” Roman asked. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Natalya looked up. Her eyes were glazed like the shine of the normally brilliant green had been dulled with the addition of black.

“No news from The Hand?” the king pressed. He knew if his brother’s condition had worsened he would have been informed.

Natalya sniffed and shook her head. Tears began to spill. Roman stood, went to her and put his arm around her.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked.

Natalya sobbed and gripped his arm around her neck.

“I’ve made a fine mess of things,” she cried.

Roman tried to comfort her. “Of course you haven’t. Whatever befalls Jerome it is his own doing. Someone, somewhere is punishing him for his behaviour in ways we couldn’t possibly comprehend.”

Natalya closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. The wind was howling now like a choir of screams calling into the night but inside the castle the fire still burned gently and the smell of cooked meat hung in the air. Outside was like a world away. Here Natalya was safe. Here in the arms of the king, Natalya had everything she ever wanted.

“It’s not Jerome,” she said. Truthfully she hadn’t given her husband any thought in the months she had stayed at Kroestov save for the letters the doctor’s wrote to her to tell her there was still no change in her condition. She reached up and touched Roman’s face softly. He brightened under her finger tips.

“I’m with child,” she told him. “I’m carrying your child.”

Roman immediately pulled away. Suddenly Perrin’s warnings were ringing in his ears. His father’s words were haunting him.

The downfall of a dynasty.

“We have to marry,” said Natalya. “Quickly.”

Roman stepped back from her and closer to the fire. The crackle became violent as the furious wind found it’s way to the flames through the granite.

“Out of question,” said the king. “You are Jerome’s wife. We can never be.”

Natalya stood too but she didn’t approach her lover. She placed her hand over her womb.

“We are going to have a child,” she told him.

Roman turned away from the flames. “We could never be,” he repeated.

“We could if Jerome were dead,” suggested the countess.

Roman gave a stern warning. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

Natalya became desperate. She wailed and threw her arms around the king.

“For the sake of our child!” she cried.

When she looked into Roman’s eyes she could see the turmoil he felt. His paternal pride clashed with his regal duty in a storm of emotion that was difficult to contain.

“I will of course treat the child no less than my own but I cannot raise them as such.”

Natalya slapped him.She lifted the skirts of her cream gown but she didn’t leave. She stared at him furiously.

“You must return to your husband. You must go back to The Hand tonight.”

Natalya top lip raised in a sneer. She turned to leave but Roman pulled her back.

“You must know this isn’t what I want.”

He kissed her passionately but she pulled away.

“I am Jerome’s wife, Majesty.” She snatched her hand back in a sharp tug.

“I would give the crown to Jerome. I would abdicate if it meant we would be free to raise our child.”

As she travelled home Roman’s words resonated with her. Natalya couldn’t help but think there was still some hope.

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Red Crown: Episode 3 (Witch Hunter)

The Countess’ heart thudded as her carriage drew closer to Castle Kroestov. She couldn’t believe it would be so easy to escape her life with Jerome and she had the witch, Annabelle, to thank.

Roman was in the doorway waiting for her, beaming with excitement. An honour guard dressed in the blood red uniform of Navaria surrounded him.

When the carriage stopped, Roman helped her out, holding her hand tightly.

“I’m so happy you have come,” he said. “I trust my brother had no objections.”

“I’m afraid my darling husband is unwell,” she explained as she took the king’s arm and made their way into the castle.

Roman stopped. “He hasn’t given you any more trouble, has he?”

Natalya smiled. Her bruises had begun to heal and her smile was radiant. It was clear the worries that had plagued her were gone.

“He is sorry,” she stated. “He regrets his actions,” she added sincerely.

“Glad to hear it,” Roman commented.

“I am happy to be here until he recovers. He needs his rest and the staff at The Hand will take care of him. I fear I would just be in his way when I could be here speaking on his behalf.”

It was Roman’s turn to smile.

“You are welcome here for as long as you wish. The place will be much brighter for it.”

Natalya giggled. “If you were not a king I would swear you were a poet, Majesty.”

Natalya could feel the atmosphere darken as she crossed the boundary of the castle. There was a malevolent air hanging that would remind her there would be no turning back.

***

A few days passed and Natalya settled into Castle Kroestov so thoroughly when people asked of the welfare of her husband she had to take a few moments to consider who they were speaking of.

“How is your husband?” asked Countess Vorgovna.

Natalya had been busy watching Roman conversing with members of his council.

She replied, “He’s doing well.”

It wasn’t until she noticed Vorgovna’s confusion she realised what she had said and felt the need to clarify.

“I mean the king is doing very well. My husband has shown no change unfortunately.

The Countess Vorgovna took Natalya’s arm in a tight grip.

“Do let him know I wish him well,” she said with a snakes hiss. “We were always very close.”

Meanwhile, the king was being urged by his council.

“The crown is a heavy burden, Majesty. It requires a queen to help carry,” Perrin was saying.

The king’s cousin, Count Vasinov, nodded in agreement.

“A suitable wife for Your Majesty would give the entire kingdom a reason to rejoice.”

Roman grinned. “I’m sure my queen will make herself known to me when the time is right. For now I would much rather turn my attention to where it is needed most. The people of The Abbey are still starting and desperate. We should be doing more to help them.”

Vasinov frowned at his cousin. He had a round boyish face and a mop of black curls. He carried a thick belly from good living and was well presented in a blazer of green which caused his brown eyes to warm.

“The Abbey is a breeding ground for thieves and whores. I fear there is no helping them.”

Roman laughed and patted Vasinov’s shoulder good-naturedly.

“My dear little cousin,” he said. “People will only steal when they have no hope. Women who feel the need to prostitute themselves need all the more protection.”

Vasinov smiled and bowed to the king’s request.

“You are going to be good for this kingdom, Majesty. I’m not sure the people deserve you.”

The court was disturbed by the arrival of two men in the uniform of the Navarian Guard.

The first – an aging man with grey hair and a full beard speckled with grey – looking furious. His over grown eyebrows were knotted in a severe frown. The second – a younger, barely a man – was being led. The boy had a slight sneer on his full lips. The smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes which looked bored.

“What is this?” Roman asked Perrin.

“General Karamin,” Perrin announced. “He has some concerns about his new recruits.”

Roman bid them to approach. Karamin bowed. The boy was forced to bow too by the hand Karamin kept behind his neck.

“What seems to the problem General?” asked the king.

The room silenced as the rest of the court looked on.

“I am having some trouble with our newer recruits,” he explained. “They are refusing to obey orders but there are such a number of them I wanted to ask for Your Majesty’s wisdom before putting them to the sword.”

Roman raised his eyebrows. “And this is one of them?” he asked, referring to the boy.

“He has been leading them,” Karamin growled. He pushed the younger guard forward.

“Being enlisted in The Guard is a sworn duty. It is a committment for life. It shouldn’t be taken lightly.” Roman addressed the boy. “What is your name?”

The boy kept his head held high although he didn’t look directly at the king. He stood with his back straight, defiant, as though he was being addressed in the ranks.

“Drenisov, Sire,” he said.

“Disobeying orders carries the punishment of death. Explain yourself.”

This time Drenisov did look at the king.

“The General was sending the men to a needless slaughter. There are witches in the woods. I tried to warn him of this.”

“Why did you not listen to the warnings of your recruits?” Roman asked Karamin.

“There are no witches, Majesty. There hasn’t been in this kingdom for centuries. This boy’s fear mongering is causing chaos.”

Drenisov lost his composure. He turned to the general.

“There are witches. We have seen them and seen what they are capable of!”

Karamin hit Drenisov with a solid hand about his head. Before Drenisov could react, Perrin stepped in.

“Now gentlemen, this is no place for brawling,” he said in a calm, paternal tone.

The talk of witchcraft was making the entire gathering nervous. They started to whisper among themselves.

Roman spoke up before things got out of hand. “This young man certainly believes his tale. There are no lies in his fear. You claim to have seen proof of these witches?”

Drenisov’s lips tightened. His nostrils flared.

“They have taken five of my comrades so far. They were sent into the forest to search for supplies but didn’t return.”

Vasinov interupted. “They woods can be treacherous. Many a fate can befall even a trained guard. That doesn’t mean it is witchcraft.”

Drenisov glared at the count. “When they were found they had been hanged from the trees with their skin stripped. Strange symbols were carved into the tree. It was no wolf or bear that did that. Now the general wants us to go into the woods again unprepared. That is as good as us being sentenced to death.”

“General Karamin, were your men found this way?” asked the king.

The general nodded in agreement.

“I want you to err on the side of caution,” instructed Roman. “At the very least someone is doing this and must be stopped. Knowledge is power after all. The more we know about the alleged witch craft the better.”

Both Karamin and Drenisov bowed but before they were allowed to leave, the king addressed the younger.

“If the men follow you I want you to take lead in the search for this murderer,” he said. “Do you think you could face a witch?”

Drenisov’s mouth spread into a wide grin that flashed a smile of pearly white teeth.

“With your authority, Majesty, I will flush out every last magic wielding whore from this kingdom.”

Karamin shook his head in disapproval but Roman laughed. The rest of the court laughed too taking the lead from the man wearing the crown.

“Then we needn’t worry. Our children can sleep soundly in their beds knowing that Witchfinder General Drenisov is keeping our kingdom safe.”

The soldiers departed and the court returned to the mingling atmosphere it had before, albeit a little uneasy. Some of them believed witches to be the creation of fantasy. Natalya knew better. She mad met one. She had traded with one. The king’s brother back at The Hand was under the spell of one. If the countess were to catch Drenisov’s attention she may very well be accused of being one.

***

The lighting at The Hand had been kept to a few small lamps and the glowing embers of the fire.

Two doctors, Hogran and Kelt, consulted over their patient. The Count, a large man, had been placed in a wing back, reading chair in the Natalya’s father’s favourite study. He was close enough to the fire that he would be warm but not so close that he would be uncomfortable.

“It’s quite a remarkable condition,” said Doctor Hogran,

His colleague leaned in closer and gazed into Jerome’s eyes. “His eyes have a strange look though. It’s almost like he is trying to say something.”

The Count nodded slowly. Drool began to leak from the right corner of his mouth. His lips parted slightly. Doctor Kelt wiped it with a handkerchief.

“I heard talk of witchcraft,” he said.

He had meant it as a jest but the words came out laced with genuine concern.

“There will be some medical explanation to this malady,” stated Doctor Hogran.

The left their patient in the hands of the staff. The Count’s eyes were still screaming. His head was still nodding.

 

Red Crown: Episode 2 (Blood of the Great Tree)

The Countess had been asleep when her husband returned. He came stumbling into her chambers, tearing the white cotton shirt from his torso. His trousers were mud stained and he had kicked off one boot. He shook Natalya but she refused to remove herself from bed and tend to him. He shook her more violently but when she still refused to receive him into her bed he grumbled and wandered off down the hall to find one of the serving girls. When he was gone she sat up. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. She spat and a spray of blood landed on the floor. Jerome’s neglectful shake had opened up the wound on her lip again and it bled.

Dawn was close. The halls of The Hand were icy cold. She didn’t call for anyone. She pulled a warm cloak over her thin frame, slipped on some leather boots and made her way into the surrounding Mendelov Woods.

There was a small clearing, deep in the forest that Natalya had visited the previous day. There was a tree that had markings and strange symbols carved into the black bark. It was beside that tree she had met Annabelle.

The early dawn light guided her way. She wasn’t sure to find the witch again but she had to try. She had told Annabelle everything about her problem and she had been eager to help.

The forest was quiet. The animals of the day were only just beginning to stir. While she waited she ran her hand over the marks. It was a strange symbology she didn’t recognise. It certainly didn’t belong in Navaria.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a woman’s voice, deep and soft, met her ear.

Annabelle seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Her skin was so pale it almost glowed in the cold morning. Her hair was copper blonde tresses that rested on her broad shoulders. Her emerald eyes were haunting.

“I had to find you. I need your help,” Natalya explained.

Annabelle snorted. “That’s not how it works,” she remarked. “Do you think I’m at your beck and call?”

“You said you could help me,” Natalya reminded the witch.

As a grin spread across Annabelle’s lips, Natalya noticed her beauty fade. For a brief moment every blood vessel in her face and neck seemed to throb.

“I said I could. I didn’t say I would.”

The Countess was frustrated. She had pinned so much hope on the nonsense Annabelle had filled her head with. It was only then she realised how foolish she had been. Witchcraft was punishable by death in Navaria and even Roman couldn’t protect her from those accusations. She turned to leave but Annabelle snatched her arm with a firm hand and pulled her back. She gripped her face with her long fingers and observed the Countess’ bruises.

“I’ll give you something,” Annabelle decided.

Natalya looked up. The witch was much taller than she.

“Will it kill him?” she asked.

Annabelle pouted her small, doll like lips. She pulled off the black cloak she wore.

“No,” she replied. “But it will tame the beast within. Murder is for you to decide, not me.”

Natalya was feeling giddy. The birds were beginning to sing. The cold, damp morning breeze was beginning to caress her face which she buried inside her cloak as much as she could.

Annabelle took Natalya’s arm and pushed the sleeve of her gown back, exposing the flesh. She ran her finger along it gently. Underneath her finger tip a deep cut appeared in the absence of a blade. Natalya winced at the pain but tried her best to remain still.

Annabelle took the fingertip, which was doused in the Countess’ blood and wiped it on one of the symbols carved in the great, black tree trunk. A crude shape that reminded Natalya of a bull. When this was done the witch crouched before the tree and murmured an incantation to herself. The tree began to ooze as though it was bleeding. Natalya could only watch on in stunned silence until eventually Annabelle stood again. She produced a small jar from the pocket of the tatty brown cloak she wore and collected some of the tree’s blood into it.

“Put some into his food. He will be no more aggressive than a door mouse,” she proclaimed. “Don’t use it all at once,” she added.

Natalya was giddy again. She didn’t know if she was feeling some magic work within her or if she was excited at the prospect of getting her life back

“Thank you,” she said with pure and true gratitude. “You must be a powerful witch,” she surmised.

“That?” Annabelle replied, pointing to the jar. “That is play to amuse children,” She said although she did seem oddly proud. “The power comes from within the tree,” she explained. “I’m just merely harvesting it’s energy. It doesn’t come free though. It has to be paid in blood.”

Natalya clasped the jar to her chest.

“My husband is the king’s brother,” she said. “If they find you they will burn you.”

If the blood of the tree did what Annabelle said it would she would forever be in the witches debt. For that she wished Annabelle to remain safe.

“I can take care of myself,” Annabelle said not unkindly. “Go home now before the energy is lost.”

Natalya skipped back to her home before the servants began to rise. She quickly washed the forest from her hands and face and skipped back into bed.

When breakfast was done her husband be no more than a whimpering child.

***

She slept soundly on for another hour before she was roused for breakfast.

“My Lady,” said the maid, a girl of eighteen who went by the name Lana, with a gentle stroke of her hair.

Natalya opened her eyes and feigned sluggishness. The truth was she was more than ready to face the day.

“Breakfast is ready for you, My Lady. His Grace awaits.”

“I’m feeling a little out of sorts this morning,” Natalya told the servant. “Give me a few moments.”

With a curtsy the girl left. Natalya wondered if she was the poor girl Jerome found to slake his lust the night before.

She dressed alone in a simple, salmon pink gown which caused her cheeks to glow. The swelling in her lip had gone down but she covered her bruised face with powder anyway. She was beginning to look much like herself again. She even smiled at her reflection. She retrieved the jar from under her pillow and prepared to face her husband.

Jerome was heartily eating bread and butter. The masticated food falling onto the table from his too wide, chewing mouth. He shoveled more crusts. The warm butter was dripping down his chin. He looked up and grunted when she took he place at the table opposite him.

He had been such an attentive man to her at first. When her father, the old count, introduced them Jerome seemed a larger than life character. He was strong, noble and capable of giving her everything she had ever wanted. Now he was a miserable wretch who was so unhappy with his life he was intent on making everyone just as miserable.

Lana brought some fruit wine. Natalya wrinkled her nose and refused.

“How are you feeling this morning?” asked Natalya.

Jerome looked at her for a few moments but said nothing.

“I thought we might take a walk together this afternoon, like we used to,” the countess attempted.

“Shut up and let me eat in peace woman. I have a headache,” he barked. He snatched the wine from Lana and washed the bread down with a greedy guzzle from the bottle.

“I’m sorry to hear you don’t feel well,” replied the wife.

Lana departed leaving them alone. Jerome rested his elbows on the table and glared at her.

She lifted a glass of water and emptied a few drops of the tree blood into it. She wasn’t satisfied though so emptied some more until the water was a pale red colour. She slid it along to her husband.

“This was from the doctor. It will make you feel better and it is said gives a gentleman some virility.”

Jerome snatched the glass up. The wrinkles in his forehead deepened as he eyed the liquid.

“It just looks like dirty water,” he said.

“It’s a herbal remedy. It will make you feel much better.”

“So you’re a fucking doctor now?” he scoffed but he drank the water. When an alcohol laced thirst took him he finished the entire glass.

“What do you care?” he snapped. “You only married me because you thought I was to be king. I was a prince, my father’s heir. Now I’m a count and stuck in this shit hole castle.”

Natalya was furious but she contained herself. “I’m sorry you feel like our life is below your station. I just wish for us to both get what we deserve.”

Jerome clutched his throat. He tried to speak but couldn’t form the words. He had been struck dumb.

Lana returned some time later and found the count sat, straight-backed in his chair and staring at his wife.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?” the maid asked lifted the plate with some chewed bread still remaining.

“He’s fine,” Natalya answered for him. “The count is weary and doesn’t wish to be disturbed today.” Jerome slowly nodded his head in agreement. When they were alone again Natalya took a deep breath.

“You will never hurt me again. As the blood of the great Edward Hargov runs in my veins you will assume my title as my husband and you will be grateful for it.”

Jerome again nodded his head dumbly in agreement.

Lana returned, looked at Jerome suspiciously at first but addressed her mistress.

“Will that be all, Your Grace?” she asked politely.

Natalya smiled. “Thank you Lana. Yes that will be all but before you go could you call on Sep?”

Sep was a large stable boy. He was dim-witted but had tremendous strength.

“His Grace is feeling a little tired and will need help to his room. He is going to be confined to his chambers for a little while.”

Lana turned to her master. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Should I call for the doctor?”

Jerome slowly shook his head. A spittle of drool gathered at the side of his mouth.

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Red Crown: Episode 1 (Darkness Descends)

In a land, far from where I write to you, existed a kingdom filled with joy and prosperity. The old king, Roslow, had died, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and strength to his two sons. Jerome was the elder and Roman was the younger. Jerome had grown bitter towards the end of his father’s life. King Roslow decided that he was unfit to rule and so instead chose to pass his crown to his second born. Roman was kinder than Jerome. He was selfless in his passion for his people and carried the strength to face all those who opposed him, including his brother.

Jerome was furious when he learned he had been passed over for the title that was rightfully his. Despite Roman offering him power at court, Jerome was jealous.

The Kingdom of Navaria rejoiced at the coronation of their new King. Roman was a once beloved prince and now an adored ruler but a dark blood ran underneath the snow covered land as tensions between the brothers threatened to erupt, bringing me to the beginning of my tale.

“He’s drunk again, Majesty,” the king’s adviser, a trusted confidante named Perrin announced discretely. There had been a commotion earlier that morning. Jerome had been fighting again.

“I am the rightful king!” had had spat on the guards trying to subdue him. “You are nothing but shit stains and should be bowing to me!”

Roman shook his head as Perrin described the scene Jerome had created in the Great Hall of Castle Kroestov – the ancestral home of Navarian Royalty.

“I’ve given him every possible advantage he could have and still he is unsatisfied,” Roman groaned. He wasn’t sat on the throne. Instead he had chosen a more modest wooden chair by one the long windows of the hall.

“He doesn’t have every advantage,” Perrin interjected. “He doesn’t have that gold on your head.” Perrin’s long face was saddened. He had watched the prince’s grow into men and it pained him to see Jerome behave with such ingratitude.

Roman removed his crown from his mane of curly brown hair.

“I’ll speak to him,” he reasoned. “He needs to learn his place and respect the crown he so desperately covets. He will respect the decision that father made.”

“There’s no reasoning with a drunkard, Majesty,” Perrin said. “You should be careful.”

“I have nothing to fear from my own brother,” the king dismissed. “I’ll speak to him.”

Later that evening, Roman set out for the Hargov Estate where his brother resided. It was a quiet ride along the edge of the forest. He travelled in a plain carriage so as not to draw attention.

The gatekeeper at the edge of the lands spied Roman’s fine clothing and the jewels on the fngers suspiciously before realisation came over him. He fell onto his knees in the muddy snow that had been churned up underneath horse foot.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the gatekeeper cried. “I was not warned of your arrival.”

Roman climbed from the carriage and placed his hand on the man’s shoulders bidding him to stand.

“Please, pay no mind. I don’t mean to impose. Is His Grace home?”

“I saw him ride out a few hours ago,” explained the man with his head lowered. “My lady is home though,” he quickly added.

Roman offered a warm and accommodating smile.

“I trust I can make my own way along the path if you wouldn’t mind keeping my driver company until I return.”

The man bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I trust he has a hearty drink stowed away you can share that will warn you both up.”

The driver and the gatekeeper were left behind as the king completed the path alone. Unafraid of assassins so close to the castle known as The Hand given the shape of the five towers that looked like a granite hand against the grey sky. Legend told of the Hand of Hargov being an impenetrable force in great wars. Edward Hargov, king, made it his home .

Countess Natalya had married Jerome at her father’s request believing that she would be queen one day. The old Count, a distant cousin in Roman’s family, died. Natalya was granted his titles and rule of the Hand as his only remaining child. When Jerome was denied the crown he became the new master of the Hand. The Hand was a great power within the kingdom but Jerome would not be satisfied until he had his crown.

The door opened upon Roman’s arrival. The servants who had spied him approach gathered in the doorway to offer him a warm welcome. Lydia Harrington, the Countess’ maid of honour, curtseyed before the king. The other ladies did likewise.

“Good evening, Your Majesty. Welcome to The Hand. It is quite an honour to receive you,” said Lydia. The other girls smiled shyly before scattering off to other parts of the castle to carry out their duties.Roman and Lydia started to make their way to Natalya’s chambers.

“She needn’t make a fuss,” Roman assured.

Lydia lowered her voice. She took the king’s arm. “To be truthful, Your Majesty, she is a little out of sorts.”

“I hope nothing serious,” was Roman’s reply.

Lydia patted his arm affectionately.

“She’ll be glad of a friendly face.”

They stopped at a door that led to a small living room in Natalya’s chambers. Lydia knocked and pushed the door open.

“A visitor for you, Your Grace,” she said.

“I won’t see anyone. Not like this!” complained Natalya. Her voice was hoarse for weeping.”

Roman pushed Lydia aside.

“Nat? What happened?” he asked with genuine concern.

Natalya, a petite woman with flowing blonde hair ran to the king and threw her arms around him. He could feel her tears as she pressed her cheek against his. Lydia quietly stepped out and closed the door, leaving them alone.

“What happened?” Roman asked again as she stepped back towards the light of the flame in the fireplace and could see the bruising on her milky, white skin. Her lip was swollen and one eye could barely open.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. She crouched by the fire where there was a bowl of warm water. She took the cloth and began dabbing at the bruises.

“Someone should help you,” Roman decided.

Natalya stopped him. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Did Jerome do this to you?” asked Roman even though he already knew the answer.

“I’m his wife,” she replied.

Roman frowned. His warm brown eyes flickered with anger. His lips tensed.

“Marriage is no licence for this,” he spat.

Natalya smiled as best she could manage with lip. She knew the king’s anger was not directed at her.

“If my father knew the king was going to give his crown to his second son it would have been you I would have married.”

Roman took her hand and kissed it.

“It would have been bliss,” he said. “I will give my brother the crown he covets so much if it means never bringing harm to you again.”

It was Natalya’s turn to frown.

“Don’t be so stupid,” she growled.

“I’m serious,” the king insisted.

“Then you are a fool,” she returned with impatience. “I’m one person. Think of the countless others who would suffer under the rule of such a man as Jerome.”

“I can’t leave you hear. Not like this,” said Roman.

He took the cloth from her and began dabbing at her lip. She reached her hand up and clasped his.

“You can’t be here when he returns. His mind would turn to all kinds of ill fancy. He will hurt you regardless of the consequences.”

Roman sighed. “Come with me,” he suggested.

“Come back to Kroestov. You will be safe there.”

Natalya shook her head. “The Hand is my home. I will not abandon it to a brute.”

“I will have something done about this,” Roman assured. “Jerome will suffer for what he has done to you.”

“What happens between a man and his wife cannot be punished. Their business is their own.”

“There has been talk of raising charges of treason. His talk of his claim to the crown has made my court nervous. He could lose his head.”

Natalya spoke soothingly. “You and I know we both still love him too much to see that happen. He is misguided.”

She could see that Roman’s frustrations were not waning so she reached out and turned his face so their eyes met. Her fingers caressed his soft, neatly trimmed beard.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Seeing you has given me strength enough.”

When the king was satisfied he had left her in good spirits he departed. The driver and the gatekeeper noticed his melancholy air when he returned but said nothing.

Lydia returned to Natalya. She was watching Roman disappear into the distance. The darkness was thickening and a mist beginning to gather across the low lands.

“You didn’t want to go to Kroestov with him?” Lydia enquired.

“No,” replied Natalya sharply. “Roman’s responsibility as king has to come first. I will deal with Jerome on my own.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Natalya reached her finger tips to her lip.

“Yesterday, as I was walking in the woods, I happened upon a woman. I thought her lost at first.”

Lydia took a sharp intake of breath

“You have to be careful,” she warned. “They say there are witches deep in those woods and they are drawing closer.”

A wry smile appeared on Natalya’s face.

“That’s exactly what I was hoping for,” she explained. “This woman said she had such powers. She is going to help me end Jerome once and for all.”

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I promise I won’t tell

Amber was thrilled. She had never been anywhere quite like the Knock, Knock club before. She was only seventeen so when the doorman stepped aside to allow her in she was exhilarated.

An invitation had come through the post. Her father was mayor of the city so he was invited to all sorts of places. She brought the handsome Kevin with her. He was ten years her senior and Lacey – her elder sister – certainly wouldn’t approve. Lacey wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like the Knock, Knock club. She had aspirations of taking their father’s office one day. Being seen in the Knock, Knock club and with the characters that frequented wouldn’t fit Lacey’s picture. Amber was more daring though. She fell in love with the club instantly. Even with the smell of stale beer and sticky floors. The neon flashing lights and empty stage excited her.

“You folks are looking a little lost.”

Amber felt a long arm slip around her shoulders. The sleeve of the man’s well tailored suit brushed against her.

“We’re new,” Amber said lowering her head so the man wouldn’t notice how young she was. She and Kevin we led to a table for two close to the stage.

“Since you’re first timers you can have be best seat in the house.”

Kevin seated himself first. The club manager pulled Amber’s chair out for her, swinging it slightly so she could have a better view of the stage.

“My name is Dennis,” he announced. “I’ll send someone to take care of you but if you need anything give me a shout.” He said this directly to Amber.

Amber smiled, forgetting her caution under the lower lights. Dennis held her gaze. The manager role slipped momentarily and a brief flash of concern raised on his face. Dennis was older than Kevin but much better looking.

“Times must be tough in this city if this dump is the place to bring a pretty girl,” Dennis jested.

Amber giggled. Kevin was not amused.

“Enjoy the show.”

The lights dimmed further. An in house band called the Knock, Knockers gathered at their instruments. A woman walked onto stage. The chatter quietened.

“Good evening,” the woman introduced. She walked across the stage with all the ease she would have in her own home. “I see a lot of familiar faces out there,” she continued in a husky voice. “You would think you would be sick of our lousy food by now but we love having you,”

The audience reacted in good cheer.

“You didn’t come to listen to me spill my guts so let’s get started.”

She moved back from the edge of the stage in dance steps. The music fired up. The ground began to vibrate. The performer erupted into song.

A scantily clad serving girl brought them a watered down whiskey each and some meat and gravy. It wasn’t much but since the financial recession had hit the Shady City it was better than most people had that night. Kevin moved his meat around his plate with a disapproving sneer.

Amber was too busy watching the performance to eat. She was too busy enjoying herself to consider that her father – the mayor – had been responsible for the desperation so many people found themselves in. It was fine for Amber to enjoy the Knock, Knock when afterwords she could return to the large house she lived in in the Upper West. So many of the city didn’t have homes to go to.

When the performance finally ended the band changed their music to something a little more down key. The lights brightened, informing the patrons that it was time to leave. The performer came from backstage to mingle. She was wearing the same red dress but had tied her hair back from her pretty face. She stood at the bar with Dennis holding a gin and tonic, poured in a square glass. Kevin was impatient to leave but Amber wanted to meet the woman.

Her back was turned. She was in deep conversation with Dennis when Amber approached shyly. The manager notified her of Amber’s presence with a flick of his head. The performer turned. She greeted Amber with a grin. There was a large gap between her front teeth that offered her a girlish quality.

“It was my first time here,” Amber said. Under the woman’s gaze she found herself quite nervous. “I really enjoyed your performance.”

“Thank you,” replied the performer with genuine gratitude. She took the girl’s hand tight. “My name is Tabitha,” she introduced.

“I would love to be just like you,” Amber blurted with childish awe.

Tabitha laughed. Dennis remained stoic.

“Oh honey, there will only ever be one of me.” She pulled Amber closer to her. “Amber Feltz, right?” The Mayor’s youngest daughter?”

Amber tried to pull away but Tabitha kept a tight grip on her arm.

“I should go,” Amber tried pulling away again.

The club was clearing quickly. None of the patrons seemed to notice she was being held.

“So soon?” Tabitha asked. Her crimson nails started to dig into Amber’s flesh. “Join me for a drink won’t you?”

Amber was pushed onto a bar stool. Tabitha stared at her closely.

“It’ll have to be water for you though. You are too young for the hard liquor from what I read.”

Amber sobbed. Tabitha’s grin widened.

“Don’t worry.” Tabitha put her hand to her mouth as though speaking secretly. “Who am I to judge?” She turned to Dennis. “You like them young, don’t you?”

Dennis shook his head.

“I have to go,” Amber said. “Kevin is waiting.”

It wasn’t until then the mayor’s daughter realised Kevin had gone for their coats quite some time ago and hadn’t returned.

The door man closed the door on the last of the customers and left without a word. The club was now empty but for the manager, the performer and the mayor’s daughter.

“Please! I have to go,” Amber pleaded once more.

These were the situations she had been warned of. These people were the reason Lacey would never come to places like the Knock, Knock club.

“People will be looking for me.”

Amber could try to run but she would feel silly for doing so. She was a silly teenager. A silly girl indeed. Suddenly the club that was so fascinating at first was intimidating with its echo, it’s filthy, empty hall.

Tabitha leaned in close to her.

“Honey,” she said. “If you expect anyone to give a rat’s ass where you are right now you have come to the wrong club.

***

“She was missing for three weeks!” Sam Crusow gasped. He held a pad of yellow paper on his lap with a pen poised over it. “The police never said anything. When the mayor disappeared did no one think to say, ‘Oh and his daughter has been gone a few weeks too.’”

Eric Waddle, editor of the Coldford Daily, crossed his arms over his chest. He glared at his best reporter.

“I’m warning you Sammy.” he said. “None of these details will be printed in my paper. If I see them elsewhere I will hold you responsible.”

Sam nodded hesitantly. He hated when his boss called him Sammy.

Eric went on. “I only tell you this because I’m a friend of the family and I want you to tread carefully. Mrs Feltz is speaking to no one else.

“How am I to cover the story when I can’t publish all the facts? How could no one care about a seventeen year old girl is missing?

Eric ignored his first comment. “Amber always was an impulsive girl,” he replied to the second. “She was seeing some older guy. She’s probably sunning herself on a beach somewhere.”

“Do you believe that?” Sam put to the editor.

He didn’t.

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A girl does what she must.

When times are desperate in Shady City the people will seek refuge anywhere, even in the seediest back alley club in town. One of those rare places in town where booze, food and good music are found.

The girls of the Knock, Knock Club have found themselves on hard times. They’re desperate too. A girl has to survive in any way they can.

Keep your hands to yourself though gents. The claws of the Knock, Knock girls can be sharp and they are not afraid to scratch.

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