Chapter 1

"Has it been confirmed?" Guildor asked the captain of his militia, who was in charge of executing all the orders issued by the Duke. An entourage of courtesans bathed him in an immense tub filled with wine and spices. A woman suddenly emerged from the frothy liquid between his legs.

"Who ordered you to come out?" The Duke yelled, taking the woman by the hair, submerging her again and forcing her to stick to his groin. A smile of pleasure appeared on his face as the woman continued with her task.

"Yes, my lord!" replied the captain. "We have confirmed that it is a girl."

A little more than a year had passed since the events that precipitated the invasion of Luria, and the subsequent coronation of the Duke of Alasia as the new monarch of the newly reinstated empire of the Triad, which now agglutinated the former monarchies of Nuria, Nunsia and Luria. His ambition for a crown had been amply satisfied. In none of his craziest dreams had he contemplated what circumstances in practice brought him.

In earlier times, the triad of kingdoms had formed a great nation ruled for centuries by a powerful lineage of kings. The last one, wise and magnanimous, had managed to lead his country onto a path of peace and prosperity. However, tragedy stroke by the death of the Queen due to the childbearing of triplets. The king fell into a deep depression and melancholy, neglecting the work of government and the upbringing and education of his children. The Constable of the Kingdom and confidant of the king had to take maters in hands. However, he did not have the capacity, neither the government skills nor the empathy of his monarch, hence, soon anarchy and defections took its toll on the once peaceful nation. The triplets grew up in an atmosphere of intrigue and machinations. It became evident that at the death of the monarch, there would be a struggle for the definition of the inheritance of the kingdom. In a last effort to remedy the situation and prevent his children to battle for the crown, he decided to divide his kingdom into three realms, abdicating in favor of each of the three princes. Hence, he avoided a bloody civil war by sacrificing the unity that for hundreds of years had rendered this kingdom as one of the most powerful of all Pelair, thus giving rise to the realms of Nunsia, Nuria and Luria. Thereby, the three royal houses shared a common lineage of regal blood.

This fact made Guildor swell with pride. He had disposed of the last three monarchs of the triad. Lothar, King of Nuria and consort to his sister Irala had never had children of his own. That the Duke knew too well. Niro, King of Nunsia, had married his daughter Galena, far younger than him. The aging of the monarch and the reluctance of Galena for mating had left Nunsia heirless too. After her rape by her brother, she had decided that no other man would possess her. To wrap it all with a flourish, the last hurdle to end the royal dynasty of Luria, Enora, had died. All he had to do now was to seize the baby girl, who represented the last link of royal blood of the ancient kingdom. His plans were however not to kill the little princess. Not so! He would not waste the only opportunity he had to access to true royalty. He would wait for the little the princess to get of mating age, just as he had thought to have done with her mother, and procreate a hair of true royal lineage himself. His chest swelled with pride and his breathing became ragged at the sure prospect of finally fulfilling his dearest dream.

"Ummm," he said with that thoughtful sound as he stroked his chin, in a gesture that preceded any decision he was about to make.

"What about the mother?" he asked raising his eyes and holding the captain's gaze.

The captain lowered his, unable to stand the scrutiny of his lord."Apparently Princess Enora died during childbirth," he replied. "Rumors say she fell into a state of depression upon learning the fate of her father and her mother. She blamed herself for the misfortune that fell on her kingdom," the captain said cautiously.

"Well the bitch deserved it!" Guildor said with visible anger. "She smothered and betrayed my son's honor," he said, remembering Gunter's death at the hands of Terrara's soldiers when he went in pursuit of Enora, who had been betrothed to him and had fled with Prince Axel of Terrara, leaving him standing. A grimace of pain and a smile of contempt showed upon his face.

"Bring that baby girl to me!" He ordered his captain sharply. "Bring me her alive!"

The woman submerged in the wine inside the tub, emerged again from between the sovereign's legs, trying to suck in a breath of air.

"Help me imbeciles!" yelled Guildor at his acolytes rising from the tub. His voluminous body dripped huge amounts of water. He leaned with his right hand on his black staff made of ebony with a silver hilt in the shape of a knob. A medallion embedded with a black opal in the shape of a half moon hung from his neck. He had snatched both from his father long ago.

A sudden evocation led Guildor to remember having gone to the room where his father was. As always, he feared the unjust punishments his father subjected him to. Alvar was a cruel and ruthless man. He needed to propitiate pain and terror. That is how he fed his power. However, subjecting his son to these punishments, gave him more pleasure than doing it to anyone else, filling him with an ecstatic sense of power.

Guildor noticed that his father had fallen asleep and the staff had rolled, reclining on the side of the chair. He approached surreptitiously and with reverence and fear, took it. He felt all of the sudden, his body filling with a fullness and almost lustful euphoria. A sense of power and vitality invaded his body.

"Give it back to me imbecile!" His father shouted, waking up and rising violently from his chair. He tried to wrest the staff from Guildor. To his surprise, the young man reacted by raising the staff, hitting his father. The sense of well-being he felt when he had grasped the staff, increased the moment Alvar received the blow. Alvar in turn, concentrated his mind in trying to chock him with the usual terror and oppression he usually subjected his son.

"You better give it back to me," Alvar said with a malevolent grin, reaching for his staff. The oppression and terror Guildor felt reached the limits of intolerance. However, he noticed a force emanating from his mind that somehow counteracted that oppression. He focused all his hatred and resentment on his father. The surprised that showed on Alvar's face, encouraged him to continue. He observed his father's face turning livid and getting out of breath. His visage took on the bluish tone characteristic of the lack of air. Guildor insisted, at seeing his father taking his hand to his throat. Guildor could not take it any longer. The memories of the suffering to which his father had subjected him finally overtook him. Lifting the staff, Guildor settled a violent blow on his father's face. A filling of fulfillment and a swelling of his chest followed at hearing the sound of cracking bones. Alvar fell back on his chair. The gush of blood that emanated from the wound and the fixed look in his eyes, told Guildor that his own sufferings were over. With contempt, he turned to leave the room. However, he noticed a brief flash on the black stone embedded in the medallion that hung from Alvar's neck. He returned and with calm removed the jewel from Alvar's neck, placing it on his own. A twisted and pleased smile crossed his face. Then, closing his hand tightly on the bloody hilt of the staff, he walked with confidence at a slow and sure pace, to take possession of the castle and the dukedom he had just inherited in such violent and bloodthirsty manner.

"Who would have thought, Mother?" Guildor said with a cynical smile, turning his gaze towards Grisela, while returning from his reverie.

Luria had finally succumbed to Guildor's anger and desire for revenge. He looted and burned Ardel to the ground. He imprisoned, tried and executed the royal family for alleged treason. The state of anxiety was general. The kingdom was renamed as Southern Nuria. Guildor imposed a curfew and began an atrocious hunt against those who had been of some importance in the society of the devastated Luria. He would not leave stone upon stone, and his thirst for hatred fully expressed against the harmless and besieged population of the kingdom.

In a grotesque example of derision, he ordered the embalming of his son's body, and placed the coffin of the deceased prince in a mausoleum at the central square of what had once been a wide avenue that surrounded by beautiful gardens, had served as the main gate to the former palace of Ardel.

Every citizen was obliged to show at the tomb and pay homage. A special bodyguard took control of the visits, and whoever did not appear on that record, was sentenced to death.

Guildor had refined the old methods his father had used to create terror and hatred. He no longer needed the excesses and physical abuses. Not that he did not make use of them when he saw fit. He just had brought to new levels of exquisite cruelty, his power to promote hatred and intrigue, hence creating a state of general terror. His mere presence made people around to tremble convulsively in fear. That terror was contagious, and soon, mistrust gripped the minds of all citizens of the kingdom. Husbands did not trust their wives, children did not trust their parents, and even the ancient councils of elders, who once had ruled and taught order and justice in the towns and villages for hundreds of years were questioned. Envy took over the desires of the masses. Everyone wanted the property of others. Suddenly the desire for possessions developed into acts of vandalism between members of the same community. Riots of people burned houses, inns, barns, stables, and taverns, and soon the flames consumed what once had been peaceful and prosperous villages. Murders were the order of the day and Guildor's militias did nothing but instigate and promote this state of anarchy. A state of terror and darkness came over the whole territory of The Triad.

"That's right," Grisela answered laconically, with an even more sinister smile on her face.