The Dracomancer

The execution

This story is an old one I've recently got back into writing. Excuse the mad writing! Tell me what you like and what should happen next! Comment and vote if you like it! Thank you!
Everything you see in this story is purely from my imagination and made by me. If you see this anywhere else, it is fraud and please let me know.
________

A cold silence fell upon everyone in this small medieval village, where the houses' rooftops were sprinkled with light snow. Vivian Sylvara is a very— important individual. She'd just gotten up from a long night's rest, ready to get through this beautiful winter day. Or— that's what she thought. She never thought the prince would appear at her doorstep in a million years. It never occurred to her. When she made her way out of the back room of her small home, she was met with a gorgeous light glistening off her skin.
Blankets of snow splattered throughout her lawn as the heat of the crackling fireplace trickled her skin. In front of her, a maroon carpet sat neatly under a wooden table near a leather sofa. A small kitchen decorated with wooden decor shone against the sunlight.
The Sylvara's home. Her family's home, which has been standing for the past one hundred years, is still held tightly. Its brick walls are clean and chaotically stacked atop one another. A tiny staircase with no railing leading to an upstairs bedroom sits quietly above her. Vivian pulled back the transparent curtains, peering through the glass and at the snow that fell gently upon the village. Men in long trench coats walk against the wind, herding their horses inside their barns.
If anyone described Vivian to another, she'd be mistaken as a middle-aged woman watching kids of the village play with their wooden swords and bullying one another. Truth be told, she was no middle-aged woman. Born in an exquisite and high-status family, Vivian had split off from the rest of her blood. She was twenty-three years old. Her skin was a gorgeous brown, her hair long and wavy, and her body was elegantly lithe. Drops of freckles ran over the bridge of her nose, popping out the bright brown that tore its way out of her eyes.
"Mr. Beair," says Vivian to herself. "Always yelling at them, poor children."
She watched through the thick snow a group of young boys tossing and throwing snowballs at one another as fast as they could. Each one ducked and weaved through the bushes, avoiding being hit by the snow. It was, of course, until the house they were in front swung open. A man with a cherry red nose came waddling out with his fist balled and eyes so squinted that they looked shut.
"You damn fools, off my property!" Mr. Beair bellowed. The kids could be heard giggling before taking off gleefully. Always up this early, they were—local teenagers of this small village that went by the name Mystic Hollow.
Vivian brewed herself a pot of coffee, pouring it into an iron cup before flopping down on her sofa. The fireplace's heat felt warm against her skin, and there she began, picking up her quill and writing on sheets of paper. It was a novel she's been working on for over three years. It was about an extraordinary boy who had the extraordinary ability to speak to animals. In his eyes, he thought all beings were beautiful in their way. That was until he came across a bear. This was no friendly bear. Actively hunts humans, and when it finds out what the boy can do, it becomes the bear's goal to hunt the boy down.
Vivian had written one page within two hours of her seating. She'd filled her cup two times at this time. The snow had calmed down, and the winds cleared up.
Her eyes averted to the wooden door to the left of her. The soft knocking echoed through the home, irritating her of her thinking. Whoever it was, was impatient. In less than six seconds, another three knocks gash against the door. Whoever it was was eager to get Vivian's attention. Other than Mr. Beair running his mouth about the kids next door to him.
"Coming!" Vivian bellowed. She aggressively stood from her seat, striding towards the door before flinging it open. A gust of freezing wind pushed against her. On the other side, a thin boy stood with his back to her. His black hair trailed the wind while he gripped his sheathed sword in his white sash. He turned swiftly. His face gleamed with what seemed to be joy.
"Sylvara!" he says. It was Prince Theodore Oliver. What could he be doing at her home? What was he doing in such a village? Someone with his status shouldn't be in such a village with poverty. The gold implanted in his attire was probably more expensive than anything in this village. Yet here he stood before Vivian. The biggest smile stretched across his face. The perfect teeth and sharpened jawline. It reminded Vivian of King Oliver. He was the best king.
"Sire," says Vivian apologetically. Theodore let himself in, sighing and taking a whiff of the home once inside. His unique cologne filled the area around them with an unfamiliar scent. "Been busy, have you?" asked Theodore. His accent was heavy when he spoke. The door shut, and Vivian reached for the iron cups stacked on one another.
"Couldn't say I've been," she says dimly, pouring a cup. A moment of silence lingered about, giving Vivian a sense of worry. Was he judging her home? When she turned, she caught the gaze before he focused on a painting of Vivian's father, which hung above the fireplace. The large scruffy beard draped over the bear-coat. "A fine warrior, he was," says Theodore, sassy—his voice light and pleasant.
"He was," Vivian agreed. She set the coffee on the center table, grunting as she sat. "Drink?" she asked. Something told her to be worried about the prince being in her home. Whenever he went somewhere, people cowered in fear. Theodore had a line of fear that followed wherever he went. The mention of his name was enough to send people running with their tails in between their legs. Theodore cleared his throat before glancing over at Vivian. A smile slowly began to form. "How's the mother doing?" asked Theodore, disregarding her question.
She watched him take three steps to the counter before grabbing a wooden figure carved out of tree bark. His tattoos show through the long sleeve when he lifted the figure.
"I— I don't know, sir."
Theodore simply glances back at her before placing the figure down. "Is— something bothering you, sir?" Vivian finally asked. The eighteen-year-old prince exhales sadly. "The old man has passed," he says. He hadn't sounded as sad as Vivian would expect a son to sound. It led her to assume the king had been dead for a while, and the last six months in Mystic Hollow seemed to be forcing her to lose track of time.
"He has?" Vivian asked, surprised.
"He has. The old fool was poisoned. Leave it to me; the Emberwood Kingdom would've fallen to its knees," says Theodore annoyingly.
"Emberwood has to do with his assassination?"
"Caught the assassin right when he fled the scene. The dumb man had forgotten about the goblins at the castle entrances," says Theodore.
"So how did he get in?" Vivian leaned in curiously. A look of disappointment and anger arose from Theodore's face. His brows furrowed, and the whites of his knuckles showed when he squeezed the handle of his sword. He kept his eyes on the dancing flames in the fireplace. The muscles in his jawline flexed before he spoke. "Smuggled himself on the back of our carriages. The small being like him was far too difficult for our goblins and dragons to sniff out. Execution is scheduled for today," says Theodore. Vivian let out a deep sigh. The king was dead, and the Emberwood Kingdom had nothing to do with it. How was Theodore so sure it was Emberwood?
Emberwood was a lovely kingdom. One filled with outrageous and caring Dwarves. Couldn't be correct. "What makes you so sure it was the Emberwood?" asked Vivian, curious for his response. She set her cup down, peering at him as he pulled the curtains back.
Snow hit the window sill, and his guards, large and bulky, surrounded Vivian's home like a gold mine.
"I know a pesky Dwarf when I see one. If it were up to me, I'd have that kingdom stripped down to its last Dwarf and torture it so it could feel my father's pain. That kingdom has caused much harm in our society. Can hardly believe father allowed Dwarves to reside in Mystic Meadows," says Theodore. Hatred spewing from his words. She watched the light from the flame flicker off his skin as he gazed out the window.
"Sad to have heard of your resignation, Sylvara," blurts Theodore. "You know I had to work on myself, sire," says Vivian. Theodore nodded. "I know. You were missed in the castle. I invite you to the execution. Starts this evening. I expect you to be present. Besides, I have something I must discuss with you. I'm afraid doing it in such a—" Theodore traces the room with disgust in his eyes. "Unique environment will not be happening," he says. "The execution will take place in Grimwald Hollow. Look out for Beatrice. When you see her, you'll see me."
Beatrice was Theodore's beloved horse. He practically raised it. Vivian remembered every day when she lived in the castle, she'd be sent off to search for Theodore and never failed to find him out in the courtyard tending to Beatrice. Practically inseparable. She was a well-known horse around the area because of him. Her all-black fur and lavishing white hair stood out amongst the others.
Vivian watched Theodore leave the home. His muffled voice yelling at the guards seeped through the door. Vivian wasn't ready. She didn't want to leave the comfort of her home. This evening? She barely had enough time to saddle her horse and head out for Grimwald Hollow. That would be a three-hour journey in this blistering cold. Who was she to complain? It's not like she had a choice. The last person to reject Theodore's request was put down in a rank. When he says he wants something done, he makes it clear he wants it done. Once you got to know him, he was a lovely boy, but he took too much after his mother.
Vivian changed into a pair of corduroy pants, black boots, and a tucked-in white T-shirt, and by the time she reached her horse, the winds and snow had stopped completely. The sound of children and teenagers lingered within the village. Streams of smoke protruding from chimneys filled the air with a sweet cocoa smell.
Vivian mounted her horse, gazing around the village for a moment. Surprisingly, it wasn't as cold as it seemed through the extreme blankets of snow and icicles that hung from roofs. Many kids wore thin, long sleeves, and some even went as far as to reduce it to short sleeves.
"Good afternoon, Sylvara!" Bellowed a child. His teeth were showing, and his face was full of glee. She peered down at him, watching him gaze at the majestical white horse she was mounted upon. "Afternoon to you, Salazar," says Vivian. She slightly bowed at him before watching him take off with the rest of his friends. "Wait for me!" he yells.
The trip went quicker than she expected. Grimwald Hollow was a lot larger than Mystic Hollow. Homes and shops leaned to their left like an unbalanced stack of plates. The cobblestone roads poked through the thin layer of frost. It hadn't been snowing in Grimwald. The tops of the homes and shops had blankets of leaves sprinkled about, and the lights inside flickered and gleamed gorgeously.
As Vivian drew near the center of the town, chattering from a jeering throng shifted with the breeze. A wall of humans blocked off the view of what looked like a stage or some sort of platform in the center of Grimwald. Has everyone come to watch the execution?
Vivian heaved as she got off her horse. She began tying the rope around a pole before approaching the crowd. People of all sizes are eager to see the execution firsthand. Each was dressed in thick leather coats and thick brown boots that had given them a few extra inches to their height. It wasn't until she nearly reached the wall of people that she heard a loud, crunching noise coming from her right.
Her brows raised, she looked up, then her heart dropped momentarily. A giant dragon with a wingspan of twenty feet peered down on her with its yellow, devilish eyes. Its snout exhaled so hard that a wisp of air exiting its snout could be visible. Its skin was a scaley green as it held tightly against the rooftops of the building. Its tail had tiny horns running down its tail, and its claws were so sharp she could nearly feel it just by merely looking at it. It was Theodore's dragon.
A Shadowstreaker. Shadowstreakers were known for their ability to become invisible to the naked eye and used for racing and speed battles, amongst others. Despite their demonized look, they were relatively gentle creatures. Of course, that's if they aren't provoked. Shadowstreakers could be raised as gentle puppies or a creature to reckon with.
By the actions of this one, who hid behind the roof once its eyes met Vivian's, she presumed it to be a gentle puppy. She forced her way through the crowd, silencing people who noticed her face and recognized her as the Former Regent of the Mystic Meadow Kingdom.
A large guillotine sat bright and beautiful in the center of five hundred town residents. A large, shirtless, muscular man with baggy pants, slippers, a slouchy witch hat, and an eagle mask stood at the side of it. Grunting with a bloody face was— the Dwarf. He had an eye missing, a broken nose, and, from what Vivian endured at first sight, broken arms, and legs. His face was a cherry color, and most of his teeth were missing. He parted his lips once the crowd had gone quiet. Rowdy adults holding up pitchforks and wooden swords rally against the Dwarf for what he's done.
"V–V–Vivian! Help me!"  he pleaded. She caught sight of Theodore, who held his beloved in his arms. Her arms latched around him with her baby blue eyes glued to Vivian.
"It wasn't me!" Heaved the Dwarf. Vivian could feel all eyes on her. Each person was eager to hear what she'd say about the situation. "I was t-t-trying to save h-"
"ENOUGH!" yelled Theodore. His tone was cold and sharp, startling the town. Everyone's eyes avert to Theodore, who seems to enjoy the attention. A smirk stretched across his face. The local Dwarves watching from within the crowd terrified of what was to come. Each one shook endlessly as Theodore took the steps one by one. "Let this be a lesson! TO ALL OF YOU!" Theodore stepped onto the platform. The Dwarf squirmed in the uncomfortable position. "For anyone thinking about betraying MY kingdom, you'll have to go through the path of my rage! I will do what it takes to protect my people!" Theodore slowly looked down at the Dwarf.
Through silent words and a tear dripping from his one eye, he pleaded for Theodore to lift. To rid him of this extreme pain he was feeling.
"Off with it—" Theodore said coldly. His voice was dim yet fierce. The blade glistened in the sunlight, flashing everyone briefly as it pierced the Dwarf's neck. Everyone went into a dead silence, listening to his head roll on the warped wood that held up his corpse.
Vivian could see the fear in many individuals. They all exchange looks— especially the Dwarfs in the lot. Muttering began then Theodore focused on Vivian, who was distraught. A smile began stretching over his face. His boots were heavy on the wood, and with disrespect, he kicked the head of the Dwarf off of the platform while making his way to Vivian. "My inner demon got the best of me, yeah?" Theodore chuckled. He places his hand on her shoulder, looking down at her. His bony face glistened with glee.
"Join me for dinner at the castle. I'll send a carriage. We can talk then," says Theodore. He tore his hand from her shoulder and proceeded past her with his beloved and two guards. Vivian looked back briefly, catching his beloved's eyes before they almost instantly broke the contact.
"Well, am I sure as hell glad not to be him," says another Dwarf.
"What could he possibly have done?" Bellowed another.
"I heard he slaughtered the king."
"No way, yeah!"
"Yes! Could explain the silence lingering out of the castle!" says the first Dwarf. The humans joined in on their conversation, gossiping their lives away.
"Will the regent take over, or will it be Lord Oliver?" asked a human. She tucked her muffins into her old, leather green jacket, sniffing in with her pink nose. "I believe that's why he's invited Former Regent Sylvara!"
Vivian hoped not. That position she was given took a toll on her. She didn't realize how much a king and queen had to endure until she was put in their shoes when they were off the lands. She could hardly rest the two months she was in charge. Every minute, she was bothered by someone or something. She now understood why kings and queens said they were busy a lot of the time.
Vivian mounted her horse and watched the building across from her. The bright green, moldy-colored wings flapped heavily above her. A loud scratch exiting the dragon's snout caught the town's attention. The wings were so heavy she could hear the wind being pushed under it. Then, with the loudest scratch, it zipped away into the fog. Its silhouette lingered momentarily before it vanished, leaving the townspeople astounded by a dragon in Grimwald Hollow.
"One day, I'm going to be the greatest Dracomancer of all time!" sprouted a child. A Dwarf child. His hair was long and bright orange. His freckles stained every portion of his face. His mom urged him to hurry inside the house, but he was too astonished by the sight of the dragon that had just left. He even had an adorable dragon necklace that hung down to his chest. It made Vivian smile. Seeing beings, such as Dwarfs, humans, and Elves, interact with creatures like dragons amused her.
Vivian made it back home quickly. The kids played outside, building sculptures and other insane things with the snow.
She hopped off her horse, glancing around before patting her horse's white fur.
"Alright, Bup. Thanks for the ride," she says. She had a smile on her face as she ran her fingers over the horse. The horse leaned her head down, taking a few bites out of the exposed grass. Vivian was so focused on tending to her horse that she'd been startled when Beair had appeared out of thin air.
"Sneaking up on me there, uh, Beair?" Vivian laughed. Je joined her, shaking his head and holding a large platter of cookies. "Didn't mean ter'. Juh' wanted to give ya sum cookies, lad," says Beair gleefully. Her eyes fell to the platter. Chocolate chips, they were. They looked lovely and fluffy. She's tried them once. She nearly ate the entire plate in one sitting. "For me?" Vivian asked, pointing to her chest. "Yup! Fer' the greatest Dracomancer of all time!" says Beair. She helped herself to one, sinking her teeth into the soft cookie.
"Wow! Amazing! Thank you!"
"Yer' welcome, me lad! Maybe that'll hel' clear yer' mind up a little! What's been botherin' ya?" asked Beair.
"Nothing much. King Theodore wants me to join him for supper."
"Yer' don' say!"
"Really. I'm afraid he will ask me something I do not want. Hasn't been good news since he's visited Mystic Hollow." Vivian chewed a little more. She looked at him, wanting to break the silence. "And about you? How's the planting going?" she asked.
"Goin' great! Couldn't go any better," he says proudly. "I suppose to be best goin'. Supper is nearly here, me lad."
Beair was right. She could hear the carriage from where she stood. The teens point in awe as they watch the black horses lined in silver-plated armor trot through the village. Vivian looked back at Beair, who had fear driven across his face.
"See you later, Beair."
"I'll catch ya, darling."
She stood ahead, watching the horses slow down with a knight guiding them, peering down at her menacingly.