T his is where The Master maintained his exclusive hold on the realms he commanded. He was thought by some to be cruel, aloof and angry. The death of his parents in the futile wars preceding his ascent to the throne contributed to this aura, which he wore like a crown around his head. His eyes were a piercing grey-blue, his physique, strong and agile. He was beautiful to look at but he was morose and there was a sadness about him. Although it was widely held that he wielded his power without concern and remorse for his subjects, he was in-fact a just ruler, misunderstood by the times. He rarely treated himself to the few pleasures that most of his contemporaries engaged in. No opulent balls, hunting expeditions, feasts or pillaging for the sport of it. For the few that truly knew The Master, they understood that his reputation was falsely applied by the realm's enemies and his own competitors; for the few fair ladies of standing and good breeding available at the time.
T he Master's advisors made his reputation a point to drive home to him on every occasion that they should assemble. In discussions of The Master's realm and it's immediate security concerns, these holdovers from his father's reign implored him to be even more aggressive with his potential enemies, allies and subjects. In fact, they felt it was time that he presented to his people a companion to help develop strategic alliances with other kingdoms through a partnership, but The Master would have none of it. He was considered past his prime in this time of early death. His age of 29 made him a full adult and his training in war, swordsmanship, political tactics and breeding, took most of his time. He poured through history books, learning all that he could about ruling his Kingdom and the relationships needed to benefit his people and himself. Most often, he was more aware of and learned than his advisors.
H e exuded arrogance and intensity. Coupled with his anger and frustration with the way the world and his personal loneliness, others in the aristocracy became uncomfortable and uneasy. Beneath his real and personal armor he was a romantic, elegant, sophisticated soul, tortured by the circumstances of the time. He believed that love would find him and was resigned to that fate. He longed for a soul mate, the sensation of chills running down his back when he walked into a room that held his love. He had seen it in his parents, but throughout the other nobility and aristocracy, the relationships were severely lacking in passion, friendship and honest communication. This was a man who had all he could ever need in his realm; the possessions, the servants, the adulation, yet he still longed for what he deemed to be truly important. Night after night he dreamed for such a partner. This dream recurring since he was a child having his head caressed by his mother, the first queen of his realm.
T he darkness of autumn continued and the annual Masquerade Ball was approaching. Each year, enemies and allies alike from surrounding realms attended to speak of their power and position themselves for the next year's exploits. Some alliances were forged; others were destroyed in the drunken debauchery that always followed the grand feast and festivities.
The Master was regarded as one of the few who clearly understood the importance of this event and his appearance each year since his 20 th birthday without a consort made his image that much more intense. No King, nor nobleman would dare ask where The Master's escort was. Once as a 25 year old man, the ball was halted only briefly as a foolish lout lay on the stone floor, mortally wounded. No member of the attendance regretted this reaction, as the injured party was in fact a cruel and senseless nobleman whose lands and riches passed to his brother, a man of twice the nobleman's brain capacity and sensibility. Regardless of the justice that may have been exacted during that ball, The Master, who had his integrity questioned by this fallen nobleman, gained from the fear his reaction caused. His personal life was not to be invaded or questioned, certainly not by an individual of questionable integrity. His reputation throughout the realm became that of a dark master. Yet, his true soul was completely the opposite. His advisors understood the need for some measure of fear to maintain control over his surfs. More importantly the nobleman in his and other realms needed to be managed and his reputation was the perfect way to do this.
As The Master aged, he began to grow this reputation like moss on the steps of his dark castle grounds. His advisors were pleased that this reputation was a blessing for the peace it had restored to the Kingdom. Unfortunately, because of this, any maiden of standing and position feared for their own lives should The Master make advances toward them.
As expected, this year was likely to be no different despite the event being held at The Master's castle hall against his desires. The castle was replete with gargoyles, the ancient protectors of the abode, health and the warding away of evil spirits. The rooms and corridors were cold from the stone floors and spartan furnishings, since after all this was the milieu of a man angered by his losses, his position, and his loneliness. Tonight, however, the abounding decorations, abundant food, candelabras, glowing fireplaces and company made up for the austere surroundings. The guests were arriving wearing masks, as was tradition for the Ball.
I n his heart, The Master wished for an elegant lady to enter and catch his glances. He was well aware of the courtship mores of the day, but was sadly disinterested in the ultimate prize. He valued the thrill of the chase, the tension and rapture that he had experienced as a young adult. Once, he felt a fire for such a woman. Her look, smell and demeanor completely took him by surprise and trapped him; only later he discovered that this woman was a true match for his ugly reputation. Not someone he expected would be a true partner for the unseen goodness that lay deep inside of him. His possessions, stature and power only served as a distraction from the dream of one day finding that love he knew existed, somewhere.
T he guests had already arrived when he descended the grand staircase, dressed in his elegant fineries. His gilded gargoyle sword hung from his waist, warning away any pretenders and aggressors. His cold and steely eyes, recognizable underneath the expressionless mask that beamed across the large hall. He was to do his business quickly and retire before the ball would end, as he had done in all years since he slew the braggart for intruding on his privacy.
A s he glanced about the room, his tall, solid frame became frozen. Who was this woman who dared to attend the ball without the traditional white headdress? She was graceful, beautiful and confident. He couldn't quite catch his breath, despite being quite a distance from her. He felt her energy, her power, her aura. He had felt this weakness once before and indeed feared it as he was only to be disappointed by the personality that stole his heart. Was this woman to be different? Was she fit to be his partner or was he fit to be hers? He felt defenseless against her seeming powers despite his reputation and strength, let alone being in his own castle! He longed to know who she was and ventured closer, the guests noticing his focus completely transfixed on this woman.
S he too could sense his stare, yet she was not dissuaded in any way from returning his gaze. Her position was much greater than his in watching him from the time he set foot on the balcony, to the time he descended the staircase. She knew who he was, his history, his passions. She was truly at an advantage and yet, this mysterious woman, was gentle in her control and strength which was not lost on The Master. As he approached, a certain hush had befallen the festivities. The other maidens, who earlier might have considered an approach, now would dare not get in the way of The Master as he slowly approached the Woman. He had no arrogance about him, only strength, good breeding and manners. This was obvious as his mask stayed high on his face; for fear that he would dishonour the Woman by revealing his face, even though she was apparently his guest.
T he tension mounted, he was aroused not only physically, but mentally by this woman's quiet energy, grace and sophistication. She barely set one foot forward as he approached, her hand also holding her mask high on her face; in part, to respect her host, but also knowing that her mystery was intriguing to this most available of men, despite his reputation. She was dressed in the finest of fabrics. The nape of her neck adorned with what was likely the seal of her realm. She was no aristocrat, this Woman. She was much more, clearly in command of great power and wealth. Yet, despite having all of these resources available to her, she chose to attend in her own style, with her own attitude. Her cape flowed around her and her right hand held the fan of black feathers, a sign of mystical power and ancient intrigue. She had full soft lips that seemed to invite The Master with each step.
W as this her goal? Was she attending the ball to entrap The Master? Or was she just another evil temptress with a heart as cold as the stone floor that he walked on? The electricity was palpable by the time he reached her, closer than is customary, but he could not stop as he approached, his legs taking him one more step closer to this most unique and fleeting of beauties to cross his path. He hesitated for a moment, but found the strength and courage to present himself as was customary at the Ball.
" I bid you welcome to the annual Ball", he spoke slowly and measured his words. "You do not seem familiar? May I ask from which Kingdom you hail?"
A brief moment passed. It felt to The Master like a lifetime. His attempt at being firm and in control as the host of this years Ball seemed to fall far short of what he needed to prove to this Woman of no name, no realm and of extreme power. The guests were aware of the energy between them. Some whispered to their consorts in fear for the maiden that he had approached, drawing on The Master's reputation. While the music continued to play, one could hear the echo of his last words. It appeared no one knew who the Woman was, where she hailed from or what her purpose was at the Ball. An eternity passed.
T he Master caught a scent of this exceptional woman. It was as if the electricity of the moment and mystery of her was locking him in trance. She smelled angelic, and he became rather aroused. His palms grew clammy, the blood from his fists and strong legs rushed to his face and neck. He was hot and somewhat weak. He could sense her confidence, her attraction to him and could not help notice the gentle rise and fall of her ample bosom. Her hair falling only slightly around her face and the perfection of her skin seemed to almost mock him. It was, however her eyes that drank him in. He could feel her consuming him, but did not fear it.
S he answered; "I am The Mistress".
The Master knew full well who this beautiful creature was. He took great care in preparing for this gathering of the realms royalty, despite being none to thrilled about hosting and having to attend. The Master did not take kindly to assuming his father's throne, cutting his attention to falconry and his birds of prey short and thrusting him into the realms affairs, as muddled and fraught with danger as they were these days.
Mistress Cerridaeu, named for the Goddess of the Old Religion, her emerald green eyes burning with a fierce otherworldly light, mesmerizing anyone who gazed at her for any period of time. Whether using her considerable powers of the mind or not, her soft, even, cream toned skin and smoldering cinnamon colored hair were a fine companion to her full and gently lifting bosom. A beautiful and potentially dangerous specimen of the powers existing in the house of Cerridaeu.
“Our respects and prayers for your parents Master Kaernun.”
“Thank you and to yours as well. It has been difficult for all of the royal houses progeny to accept the decision of the Black Mists… to take that which was rightfully ours not more than a mere fortnight of an age.”
“Indeed Master Kaernun,” The Mistress replied with a sense of foreboding and deep injury, “we all suffer inside, but we have been given this new right, that which we must uphold.”
The Master had been locked in a soft but constant stare. He was not overcome by the Mistress' beauty. No, not just yet, for he had the power to block her, so long as he maintained his wits about him. His sword, with its' hilt of Aure, never left uncapped by his hand, fearing that moment of penetration by her into his mind. He didn't like the thought of losing control or even the sense that he was, despite the history that he shared with The Mistress. The past now seemingly just a mirage. So many changes, so quickly and painfully.
She, in turn, was not interested at this point, in challenging him or influencing him, for her deep feelings of loss were real and she knew that he too, felt this way, unlike other newly enthroned offspring within the Realm.
“Have your brothers taken to learning the art of battle and chivalry?” He asked politely, breaking the thick and saddened air between them.
“Yes, Master Kaernun. All three, although their tender age will not have them setting about engaging their new skills just yet.” A wry smile crossing her full , glistening lips. For she knew the Master was blocking her. Not that she wished to engage him in any state other than the natural, but with the recent turmoil in the kingdoms, she considered his stiffness as expected and also as showing her some substantial level of respect. This pleased her.
“I see. They must be an impetuous broud, so eager to engage in battle with nary a true moment between them.” He caught himself and continued; “Forgive the comment Mistress. I mean no disrespect to the house Cerrideau. I too have younger siblings and know of their impatience and often times insolence. Your brothers are fortunate to have you as the Cerrideau Queen to nurture and help educate them. Were my own siblings so aware that I too have a heavy burden of the family, kingdom and Realm.'
The Master was being truthful and open in his remarks. Rare for this young ruler with a reputation for standoffishness and disinterest in revealing family matters to anyone, even to his own house.
The House of Kaernun had been the strongest by real and ethereal power before The Mists and while none of the seven kingdoms questioned The Masters' power and ability to use it, some of the other five houses coveted some of that as their own.
This reception would be an opportunity to assess which kingdoms might be more adventurous than others. Cerrideau would not be one of them, The Master was certain of this, but was not yet comfortable to discuss a full and formal relationship between the houses, such as was sealed in the past. Rumors had suggested that the hand of the Mistress was promised to the House Kaernun in exchange for a long lasting Magental Parchment, the ancient and formal binding of two houses. Could this statuesque and beautiful woman have been his bride in another time and place? His head shook slightly as if to banish the thought from his mind. Not that it was completely distasteful or impossible, simply that to think this thought, even for an instant, in front of or in the presence of The Mistress was not only foolish, recognizing her “talents”, but childish and wanton, since he was yet to truly feel worthy of such a rumor.
“Get a hold of yourself! Your mind wanders like that of a serf presented with a maiden of his choice for the first time!” he lectured himself.
He knew her personal powers and those of her family's, didn't require any additions from Kaernun, nor did her parents ever suggest otherwise in their cordial and often warm relations with his own family. Profitable commerce and trade continued between the kingdoms even after the Mists ravaged the royal houses, intent on unwinding any cooperation and forcing discord, conflict and struggle. The Goddess was kind to the Realm in this way, maintaining some stability, despite isolated skirmishes and disputes, but this tense and delicate situation was vulnerable. Almost daily, new complaints were lodged with the judiciaries of each Kingdom. The Mists, still unhappy with the death and destruction that they had caused, their ultimate goals thwarted, continue to press for control and usurping of all the Houses from their kingdoms. This, Master Kaernun and the other Houses could not allow. The Gathering tonight, is specific to maintaining the loose, yet all-important commitments that prevented the Mists from gaining full and horrible control over the entire realm.
Were it only so easy, the Master thought. Court rumors that The Mistress had other plans were, he thought absurd, but not for the likes of Cerrideau's advisors and the easily manipulated brothers of The Mistress. Was she capable of fending off all three impatient little trolls, he thought with a smile for letting himself throw a barb at the young men he used to tease when playing at the Cerrideau castle. Yes, he did indeed tease The Mistress' brothers. Often taking a cold scabbard to them and scaring them to leave him alone so that he might learn the ways of the Old Religion and practice the arts of his house with The Mistress. Perhaps these brothers would not look so fondly upon these days as teasing and take up arms against his house at the prodding of the Cerrideau court, pushing the Mistress aside somehow… Again, he caught himself thinking on a subject best left for his own court advisors and confidents. He needed to gain control of his mind, for tonight would portend many instances when he would have to completely avoid any thoughts of any kind. The evening could be far too dangerous and injurious to his own affairs and even to his life and that of his family's with such loose thought.
“No disrespect taken. It is true that their youth and inexperience can sometimes be tiresome, but I feel their losses, as they are my own. I must have patience with them as they transition to Optimus.” The Mistress responded, letting sufficient time pass as The Master cleared his mind, out of courtesy to him and being aware that his thoughts were many and varied on such an important night.
“Yes Mistress, you are wise to know my own troubles in elevating the skills to Optimus of my own brother and sisters. It can indeed be tiresome, but it is a task we have been given by the Fates.”
The conversation had been quite lengthy and intimate for their first meeting in a formal setting. She seemed content to carry the conversation forward, but sensed his weariness. She enjoyed speaking with the Master. It had been years since they, as young courtesans, played and chatted without a care. However, times had changed and the decorum of the moment would not be ignored.
“I sense the evenings affairs have only just begun to take up your attention. I'll look forward to our kingdoms continued trade and mutually beneficial terms. I will take my leave Master Kaernun as I am certain your guests are eager to greet you. I've enjoyed your company for far to long this evening, depriving your guests of your own attention.” The Mistress, being completely gracious and considerate in her parting words.
A brief curtsey followed, but her head never bowed and her eyes never left his. Were they in the presence of others, this departure would have been viewed as highly suggestive and an affront to the host and newly installed ruler of Kaernun.
The Master knew better and returned her familiar and welcome style of departure with a formal bow to her, respecting her position, power and beauty. This time, a shy smirk covered her lips as she backed away and turned toward the enormous, well-lit center hall leading to the opulent, gilt covered ballroom. Her true feelings, released, if only for an instant, seemed to have been missed by The Master. Fortunately, for The Mistress, she knew his mind was on other more pressing issues and that she had not compromised her position with memories of their childhood and rumors of their betrothal, which she was not averse to in the least. Had The Mists not undone the blessings of their families, perhaps... This is not the time, she thought. Another place, sometime of her choosing she would be able to be more forthcoming. Not here and not now and not with the enormous burden of the evenings affairs on his shoulders.
The Master catching the sight of her soft, milky white cheek and magnificent eyes as he lifted his head and feeling paralyzed for a moment. She, having her own thoughts of courtship and romance, had an intensity and energy that would paralyze any man, no matter the strength of will. He had let his mind wander and she as always, attuned and empowered caught him at a weak moment of fond memories as well. He would have to be more vigilant for the rest of the evening, for many of the Realms rulers had powers unlike his own or those of The Mistress. Some he knew of, some he had been questioning his parents advisors about before their own premature demise.
As the new ruler of the House of Kaernun, this evening was to be an essential foundation to avoid the bloodshed that had been predicted by the Inseers. The weight of the evening was almost too much for him, almost as much as that of the Sethalon that he dispatched on reaching his own Optimus not that long ago. He had but one choice and that was to shortly follow The Mistress into the Main Ballroom to greet and be greeted. He loathed the pretence and shallowness of what was about to ensue and he hardly begun the task of being the gracious host of the evening..
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ABOUT THE ARTIST - Camille Kuo
Camille Kuo, who hails from Taiwan is part of an elite community of artists who are devoted to the new mediums of digital art, skin art, themes, wallpaper art, as well as traditional art, photography, poetry / prose. Ms. Kuo is honored by being displayed in numerous on-line digital art communities as well as in printed art award books particularly in fantasy communities. Ms. Kuo has had published cover art as well as exclusively illustrating for Master & Mistress, both images being published and receiving acclaim in Exotique of Ballistic Publishing.
