Royalty

There are two kinds of royalty.


The dwarves and the elves have never got on, ever. The dwarves thought of the elves as arrogant upstarts who stole the majesties and riches from the old Dvergarholms. The elves thought the dwarves were arrogant old men who squandered what they had on pointless ventures and effigies. In some ways, they were very alike.

The skeletons that descended upon the two outposts - one elf, one dwarf, eyeing each other over the Strang River - didn't think anything of either of the races. They came in droves, silent except for the clink of metal on bone. By the time the alarm was raised, it was much too late to respond.

The elves and dwarves, for all their differences, died very much the same.

When the horror had ended, the horde did not take gold, or weapons. They did not burn down flags, or destroy the outposts, or seize their new holdings. They piled up the corpses on a cart pulled by fleshless horses and vanished into the fog, as silent as they had come.

Two days later, the cartographers of Ardea noticed the Ivory Forest had expanded by half an inch westwards, across the entire border.

And thus did Ostaria, the Empire of Bone, expand.


Light swept into the room, and prince Tak-Sin stood back from the window to admire himself in the full-length mirror, the sunlight playing off his nude form.

Nice. Still as refined and delicate as ever. Long blue hair that went down to just above his hips. Toned legs, slim body, and a face that could pass for beauty in either gender. No wonder the Duke of Calra fell for him so quickly. Then again, Duke John Estwald, of the province of Calra, was a handsome young man who unfortunately was both inexperienced in ruling and suffering from an orientation that his stuffy old father didn't like. Thankfully, Tak-Sin was more than happy to accommodate both of those things.

What a lovely party. What a lovely dress he'd worn - although he couldn't seem to find it in the scattered items on the royal carpet. What nice food. What a fun evening.

What opportunity.

He could hear Morgan in his head, the eidolon lurking in a corner of space-time and begging for blood. He dismissed the spirit with a mental wave of his hand. There was plenty of time for that. No, John wasn't quite ready. His estate was rich, and had connections to the merchants of Belgrazia. Handsome young merchants who would be looking for financial aid, and who might be lonely on cold nights waiting for their ships to come in, and who might turn a blind eye if somebody close to them might want something special brought in on those ships.

Later, the merfolk would give the slient command, and poor Duke Estwald would be stabbed in his sleep by a madman, or take a nasty tumble and break his neck. But until then, there were still things to do. He could have a lot of fun with John. More parties to attend, official functions to laze around in looking for the inevitable replacement, more wine to drink and gold to spend, more lovely nights in.

Speaking of which...

Tak-Sin padded over to the four-poster at the far end of the room, climbing on and crawling on all fours over the sleeping form in the middle. He made sure to brush John's body with his own as he lay on top, and relished the flush of the young man's face as the young Duke awoke to see the results of last night.

"Good morning, dear," the merfolk whispered, and kissed him.

He really was very handsome. It would be a shame to kill him. Maybe he could enslave him instead.


There are two kinds of royalty. Those who wear an iron fist, and those who wear a velvet glove over the top of it.