Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 2 - The Phantom Queen

A single crow hovered above as the sun closed its eyes on the horrors that the day had brought. It circled the encampment tirelessly as though it was waiting for something. Night had descended, and slowly the torches spread throughout the area began to fade until nothing was left except the murky darkness. Athelstan tossed and turned in his drunken sleep; it seemed that even he wasn't immune to the night terrors brought on by war.

King Edward the Elder sat on the throne. A crack of lightning flashed the room as Athelstan entered, now standing under the golden dragon archway that marked the threshold of the hall. He was a child again, squinting through the pitch-black as he watched the ominous outline of his father stand to his feet.

"You have failed me, my son..." the voice echoed around the empty hall.

"Father, I." The hairs on the back of Athelstan's neck poised with terror as he heard the slithering of a monstrous entity behind him. He looked up. Nothing. Something grabbed at his leg, suddenly binding his entire body. He squirmed in panic as he felt the golden scales wrap further up his torso and over his mouth. The dragon statue? How?

Another bolt of lightning struck the tallest tower above the throne room as his desperate eyes met his fathers; begging him for help. The light retreated, leaving a pair of murderous yellow eyes watching over the King.

"Father... Father." His muffled screams did not reach Edwards ears. Tears poured down his face as he helplessly watched the eyes approach where he knew his father stood. A roar louder than the most fearsome thunderclap, whipped through the darkness, followed by deafening silence.

The serpents grip grew tighter around Athelstan's neck. As his consciousness faded around him, a final jolt of lightning crashed to the ground. For the faintest of moments, he saw the black grizzly standing over his father's bloodied corpse.

This was not the first time he had dreamt of the death of his father. Each time he struggled in vain. Each time he watched him die. Edward the Elder regarded the Scottish people as equals, allowing them positions of authority in the Kingdom. That changed when he was found dead. Hacked to death by some sort of beast. His most trusted Druid-and advisor to the crown-gone.

*****

The crow had come to rest on the peak of the King's tent for some time now. Intermittent beams of moonlight peeked through the dense cloud cover, reflecting on the crow's glossy ebony feathers. Sensing the time was right, it silently dropped to the ground evading the detection of the two armed guards on either side of the doorway, and through a tiny gap in the canvas.

Once inside, the Phantom Queen--Mór-Rioghain--spread her wings, and suddenly a woman's dim shadow could be seen cast on the canvas wall by the candlelight from Athelstan's bedside. Her jet-black cloak was made entirely of tightly woven crows feathers. Dulled from use, it devoured any light that dared cast upon it, gently flowing behind her as she moved. With eyes like teardrops of obsidian, she lustfully watched over him as she observed the golden aura of power radiate from his body. It had been over a hundred years since she had been in the presence of a human King and something was enticing her closer. Closer. Closer still.

She closed her eyes as she slowly inhaled his aura, savouring the intoxicating smell as it emanated through her body and caused her flawless pale skin to prickle with goose-flesh of desire. Mór-Rioghain pondered waking the King and giving in to her yearning. She knew without a doubt that the offspring they would produce would inherit boundless power, but she would not take this man tonight, destiny had other ideas. Standing directly over the King she chanted lowly in her native Gaelic tongue,

"I have come with a vision O' Butcher King. Of your demise, by the hand of my descendants. Beginnings and endings all things must be, the one who will slay you three wolves head is thee." An ominous mist slivered from her slender fingers, shrouding the King who lay sleeping unaware of her presence.