Author's Notes: Warning: This will be an extremely violent (as in throats are going to be torn out in graphic detail sort of violent) story that will feature character death and other upsetting and disturbing things. This is definitely meant for a 16+ audience.

I usually update this story every Friday based on whatever wordcount I have at that time. So chapters may range from 500 to 5,000 words, just depending on the week I've had. As I am catching up at SparkaTale for the first update there are two complete chapters, as there are in my manuscript. After this however I will return to my usual update pattern of chapters being posted in pieces as I make progress on them.

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It may have all happened because the princess grew bored with her escort.

                He had been an affable young man, but stale with coached manners and no intrinsic charm. He was a goose strutting about as a peacock, and his dull feathers peeked out from beneath his splendid coat. It was not his fault he was vapid, he had been born that way, it was only unfortunate for his bloodline as he was a rumored rival heir to Alemannia’s throne. Fozhan, the first daughter of the Shah and princess of Parsa, could only smile in pity at him. If this empire fell into his hands she would all the more be in need of a capable mate. She mentally crossed Alemannia off the list with its indifferent princes.

                She left Prince Franz and her chaperone to discuss the topic of wall fortification. It was a subject Fozhan had exhausted several hours upon with her people’s on-going preparations for the oncoming onslaught of the Horde. She would have paid attention if she could not see the young fool was just parroting the words of engineers with none of his own insight into the necessity of defense. He was, in short, an idiot, and Fozhan let her mind and body wander. Rose gardens are stale in the winter, even with their tightly closed buds promising magnificent blooms in Spring. She left behind Roozbeh to continue his polite intercourse, trying to mend the situation in his intrinsic good will, and totally distracted from his actual charge.

                It was rare that the Shah’s daughter walked alone without some sort of attendant chasing after her ankles. The young woman clicked the heels of the boots she had been forced to wear with the change in climate and fluttered down the great stone halls of the Castle of the Bear, the very center of Alemannian government. She flew down from the second story rose garden and down towards the bustling courtyard. She passed by servants and various lower nobles who all stopped and stared at the veiled young woman but sensing she was far above any of them stayed away. Fozhan raised her eyes up, what the drafty castle lacked in refinements it made up for in the great tapestries that lined the walls. Stories of betrayal, love, and mourning played out across the vaulted halls and chased after her as she headed back towards the light. As she approached the sun the sound of battle reached her ears.

                It was faint at first, a distant clanging sound, possibly a far off smithy. As she walked towards the noise she realized this was not the rhythmic banging of a hammer against iron but of two blades slicing against one another. Fozhan went still as light flooded her vision, temporarily obscuring her sight as she passed through the great doors that opened into the courtyard. She raised an arm and took timorous steps forward as she followed the furious sounds of combat.

                When she could lower her arm she found a crowd standing before her and all other activity suspended as people cheered or jeered at some pair of contenders in the center of the yard. Fozhan tried to push her way through the crush of bodies but found it impenetrable with everyone distracted with whatever spectacle was occurring. With a huff Fozhan looked about and saw a small smattering of children perched upon a wagon and by the awed looks on their faces perfectly able to see what was going on. Carefully gathering up her skirts and veil Fozhan climbed up a wheel and precariously stood above the heads of the seated children.

                It was a duel between two men, red faced, heaving, with swords in hand. They had obviously been battling for some time, they were both now on opposite sides of their intimate arena, glowering at one another as each one contemplated his next move. Fozhan’s eyes swept between the two of them, one fair, muscular, with his cheek cut open and blood running down his blond beard. The other was tall, slender, with lovely wavy black hair and golden eyes. Her breath stopped, in fact the taller man, this svelte fighter who had brought that blond brute nearly to his knees, he was beautiful.

                “Child,” she addressed one of her neighbors in her precise but heavily accented Alemannish, “what is happening here?”

                “Someone asked for the Beast’s hand again,” he snickered gleefully without fully turning towards Fozhan. When he did the boy made a terrified expression and looked at his feet. He quickly tried to amend what he had just said. “What I mean is-! Someone asked for the hand of Lady Waltraud, the most honorable daughter of our dear Lady Röselein.”

                “So this is a duel for a woman’s hand? With who, her brother?” Fozhan asked.

                “Oh no, that is Lady Waltraud,” he indicated the dark haired combatant with a wave of his hand. “She fights for her own hand. She’ll only marry someone who can defeat her.”

                “She’ll only…” Fozhan repeated in shock but lost her breath again as the lady at last struck. She unfurled herself from her corner, lunging with her neck extended forward and her sword tucked in by her waist. It was a feint, her opponent stepped back to avoid a blow to the gut and as he faltered she turned sideways to bring herself close to him while avoiding his blade. She grasped his holding wrist and twisted harshly to force him to release his weapon. She dipped under his arm, yanked it back and with a sickening crack dislocated the man’s shoulder. He screamed and fell to his knees. As he heaved in agony she coolly brought her own blade against his neck while still holding his wrenched arm.

                It had only taken her a few seconds to disarm a man who probably weighed twice as much as she did. Fozhan realized for her to be able to pull and tear bone and muscle as she had, this Waltraud, this “Beast” as she had been called, must be as strong as he as well. Who was this woman?

                And what she must do to have her?

                “Will you surrender to me, Lord Markus?” her voice was soft, but husky, deep like a dark well with the cadence of flowing water. The man turned his face away and she pulled on his mutilated joint once again.

                “Yes!” he at last acquiesced in a scream. She dropped the arm and stepped away from the man. Someone handed her a piece of cloth to wipe her face with as she caught her breath and the defeated Lord Markus was carried away.

                “Oh ho, ho, it is always so great to watch the Beast fight!” The boy enthusiastically leapt up, forgetting himself once again. “There is nothing like her!”

                Fozhan could only agree as she climbed down from her perch. With the crowd dispersing it was far easier to find a path to the champion; she still stood in the center, taking a drink of water from the same page as before. Coming closer Fozhan could now see the face she had thought of as attractive had been the haze of infatuation. Waltraud’s face was long, with a pointed nose and thin lips that could scarcely conceal her oversized teeth. Indeed, Fozhan could at time see the points of four canines peeking through those smudges of pink flesh. The champion’s face was plain at best with unusual angles and features. Yet she magnificent with her waves of dark hair flowing around her flushed cheeks and the incline of her slender back as she leaned against her sword driven into the ground. She could see above everyone else and even with her large nose didn’t appear to be looking down upon them, only forward, into the future.

                And she was beautiful all the same, as breath-taking as before and forever.

                “You must fight me!” Fozhan cried out, already knowing she was in love. Waltraud raised her face and gave her a startled look. Fozhan raised her chin and glared up at the champion. “I will win your hand.”

                There was a few more seconds of silence as Waltraud looked like she was attempting to figure out if the woman standing before her was serious. She at last gave a helpless shrug, obviously not wishing to get too upset if this was some sort of joke.

                “You are a woman.” She scoffed.

                “And so are you,” Fozhan countered and Waltraud glowered.

                “And you are a foreigner; I would not wish to injure a guest of his majesty.” She turned away but Fozhan would not allow the dismissal.

                “Don’t make such an assumption!” Waltraud looked back at her incredulously and Fozhan knew then the only way to convince the other woman to allow her this chance was to prove herself. She removed her outer robe and removed her head covering, exposing her own dark locks to the dull sunlight of northern Alemannia. She stripped down to her undershirt and tucked the ends of her skirt into her girdle. She kept her face veiled however in the heat of being so immodest. Waltraud opened her mouth to protest again and Fozhan removed her sword from its sheath at her side. All her years of training would not go to waste for she would win her empire a bride worthy of it!

                Waltraud had barely pulled her sword out of the ground before she raised it to counteract Fozhan’s opening lunge. The taller woman glared down as she braced against all of Fozhan’s strength.

                “I don’t wish to hurt you, my lady but if I must-!” with a grunt she threw her arm forward, opening her body up to a strike. It was impossible for Fozhan to take that opportunity however as she was thrown back. She hit the ground painfully and barely had time to roll away from a follow-up strike aimed at her head. As Waltraud landed however her sword point became embedded in the ground. In the few seconds it took her to dislodge the blade Fozhan was up and aiming for her exposed side. The other woman’s body swung back and away from the blade as she lifted hers to meet Fozhan’s swing. The blades shrieked as they met, a wake of sparks following their embrace as each slid down to rest against the other’s hilt.

                “Still worried about hurting me?” Fozhan smiled, even knowing it was lost, as her knees wavered against the brunt of Waltraud’s weight bearing down on her. Her hands shook to hold the sword against her opponent’s. Yet she continued to smile, as Waltraud’s face remained blank, devoid of all emotion. They were both veiled in their own ways, unknowable to each other. Yet she received an answer as Waltraud’s sword wrenched back, breaking the stalemate, and using her superior height to strike at Fozhan’s shoulder. Fozhan stepped back as the wave of blood crashed across her neck and the pain followed in a surge afterwards.

                Waltraud didn’t follow up her attack immediately however with a killing strike aimed at the unprotected abdomen, she hesitated even with her dagger in hand, keeping her blade embedded in the flesh of Fozhan’s shoulder. Fozhan’s other hand fell for her dagger at her waist and in a violent upswing forced it into the Waltraud’s wrist. She wrenched it and forced the tendons to twist and open the other woman’s wrist.

                Fozhan gave a shuddering laugh as Waltraud gasped, not in pain but surprise.

                “You let go first, you lost.” And knowing that let herself collapse before the stunned loser, and with a cry she removed the blade from her shoulder. All she could see was Waltraud’s bloodied hand, running red at her waist, painting the dirt with her and Fozhan’s blood.

                “How…?” Waltraud stepped back and looked around, as if the answer was on the horizon. Fozhan couldn’t answer with her head swimming from blood loss and pain twisting her innards.

                Roozbeh appeared overhead, shrieking and pulling his charge to her feet.

                “Why, oh god, why?” he demanded when he could form words in Parsi at least.

                “Because…I need her…” Fozhan fainted with a smile on her face.

               

 

 

 

                It was Lady Röselein’s opinion Waltraud had allowed it to happen.

                Waltraud had retreated to her mistress’ quarters in an apoplexy after the duel in a stunned horror. She had sequestered herself amongst the cushions and flowers that her lady was named after. She fell onto her side upon a daybed and tried to settle her stomach. She found no respite however even in the bower where she had always found in such comfort. How had this happened? She looked at her right wrist still leaking blood from the angry gouge where the blade had sliced through it. She quickly wrapped it with her discarded coat. With a moan she rolled onto her back and found no more answers here in the soft delight of her lady’s chamber than amongst the sharp jeers of the crowd. She contemplated the soft light of the lamps above and the shadows growing longer as the rumor mill turned around and around the Castle of the Bear.

                Waltraud had never known such a feeling in her life, this hot and throbbing swell of regret. It was bitter and choking, and she could still not understand how it had happened. All her life she had been undefeated, she had always been the strongest, the quickest, and the winner. She had always been her lady’s champion. The thought of disappointing her mentor stripped her of all intelligence and returned her to a childish state of terror. Yet she remained within the lair of the one who could execute her and waited for judgment even in her fear.

                Lady Röselein Sabine Charlotte Anselmssohn eventually retired to her chambers in a fluster of red and pink. She removed her riding habit and pulled out the ties that had kept her blonde braids piled atop her head. Her heavy bosom heaved in indignation and her hips moved in an agitated sway as she contemplated her crestfallen knight. She would have never thought visiting her mother’s kin sequestered in their minor mansion at the east end of Berlin would have tempted such disaster. Her fine blue eyes raked over Waltraud’s crumpled figure and looked disgusted at her defeat.

                “You hesitated.” Röselein pronounced deftly and Waltraud at last raised her head. The older woman raised her delicate chin. “I heard what happened, you hesitated and she was able to put the dagger through your wrist.”

                Waltraud sat back, unable to deny the charge, and unable to explain why she had. She avoided killing unnecessarily, but she had also already killed one of her suitors in a similar gambit. She looked away, unable to give reason for her actions. As always however Röselein could explain them.

                “It’s because she is a woman! That’s why you hesitated. You don’t like to kill women, do you? Ah, but it’s the same mistake others make with you!  And you make them pay don’t you?” She cried and Waltraud kept her gaze turned pointedly away. Röselein crouched over her however in a crush of pink silk. She flicked the younger woman’s forehead with a scowl and Waltraud flinched.

                “You started thinking like a man and that’s why you got caught! You must always, always think like a woman!” Röselein huffed and tapped her temple with a knowing finger.

                “I’m sorry,” Waltraud at last sighed and the lady clicked her tongue. She grasped Waltraud’s wrist to look blood soaked coat. She dropped the limb in disgust and bustled away to fetch some bandages. Years on the battlefield had long since taught both of them how to dress wounds.

                “Idiot girl, if you weren’t what you are she could have easily maimed you from ever holding a sword again. Was that really her intention?” Röselein huffed as she looked upon the wound for the first time. With a snort she poured alcohol onto the gouge and began to dress it. She made eye contact with Waltraud at the same pernicious thought.

                “She cannot know. She only got here yesterday and since that time has been assigned to Prince Franz. He would have never allowed her to even know those rumors.” Waltraud said confidently, yet that troubling possibility of exposure remained. Röselein shook her head.

                “It doesn’t matter anyway! We cannot possibly be married! Two women! Whoever heard of such a thing!” Waltraud argued. Röselein turned away however leaving the dressed wound and contemplating the situation at hand. Waltraud sat back, for the last eighteen years the woman before her had been her life. This noblewoman of exquisite beauty and figure had taken in a young wolf cub upon a whim and raised her by her own hand, she had even adopted her and given her the name of “Anselmssohn”, that of the royal family.

                Yet this affection had been Waltraud’s noose. Given the family name King Ludwig had claimed her as a grandniece and demanded she marry. It had been a subtle way to separate the mother and daughter, and foiled so far by Waltraud’s demand she only belong to someone who could defeat her in battle.

                And now, like her lady, she was to be subjugated by that institution. Röselein had been married five years ago to her oldest cousin, the king’s first son.  She was mother to the king’s only grandchild, Prince Jakob.

                Röselein however had been freed of her spouse; Waltraud hadn’t found the courage to murder hers even when she’d had the perfect chance.

                “This is what you get for dressing like a man you know,” Röselein sighed as she put her cheek in a palm with an indulgent expression. “I told you to give that up when we came to court but you insisted! Now you have been caught as any man can be. Oh, what are we to do?”

                Waltraud stood as they at last came back to familiar ground.

                “I can right this.” She told Röselein fiercely, looking to regain her dignity after such a humiliating afternoon. She was only to find herself torn down further however.

                “You couldn’t kill her the first time, my dear, what makes you think you could a second?” Röselein asked and Waltraud felt her heart rip open. The older woman turned away and stood to leave her behind, drowning in indignation.

                “You are a Beast Waltraud, but this girl may already be your weakness.” Röselein mused at the window, looking across the dark city where every citizen was surely shivering at the cold.

                “She is not! I only didn’t kill her because, because…” she still didn’t know why.

                “Leave me, child, I need to think this over. You’ll have your orders in the morning.” Röselein closed her eyes, denying Waltraud even that comfort. Waltraud felt the tear grow bigger and left the chamber quite convinced she had never hated anyone as much as she did the Shah of Parsa’s daughter.

 

 

 

 

                Roozbeh Abdul-al-Malik was of the opinion Fozhan’s impulsiveness had just led the entire Imitiyazid dynasty into disaster.

                When his charge had been tended to, awoke from her swoon, and taken to her chambers with countless apologies from the Alemannians, it was only then he could scold her. He chased away her hysterical handmaidens and made them wait outside in the hall until they had silenced their sniffling. He could see the cause of their alarm however. Fozhan’s cheeks were usually full of bright color and life, but now they were ashen. Her left arm remained still, her shoulder painfully wrapped in tight bandages. Beneath that tight weaving were stitches, placed by their own physician, the bumbling Alemannian had been left to fume at the door. Her bloodstained shirt was in a heap on the floor still, forgotten in the alarm.

                His mistress’ pitiful state was not going to spare her from a tongue lashing from her advisor however.

                He railed for the idea of common sense, of the pride of her ancestors, for the safety of her kingdom, and of the very dignity of her sex. He pleaded for her to remember as a lowly eunuch he would summarily be executed if anything happened to her if she would not spare his heart in his affection for her, his charge and pupil. He asked her to remember her father and the faith he had in her. He begged her to leave Alemannia immediately and forget all of this had ever happened.

                She appeared to have not even heard his words and continued to look at the stark ceiling above her bed. He panted while she blinked at an apparent spider racing across the stone. He pinched her side as he would have when she was a child and she at last looked into his reddened face.

                “My lady. Please explain yourself,” he gasped.

                “I want her, what more is there to need to know?” she shrugged her uninjured shoulder, which made him fear she had suffered a permanent injury in the left one. Thank Allah she was right handed!

                “She is a woman. Do you really think your father will allow this?” Roozbeh pressed.

                “He told me to bring home a husband that would be worthy of Parsa. I have found one. I have not disobeyed him.”  She turned her face away.

                “How will you have children? Do you think your people will rally around a female husband? Do you think this is pleasing to Allah?”

                “When she defeats the Horde, they will all love her.” Fozhan turned her face upwards, her dark eyes gleaming with voluptuous dreams. “If you had only seen her Roozbeh! I am sure you would have fallen in love with her too. She is magnificent, brave, fierce. No one can help but love her, I am sure.”

                “My lady…” he groaned. She really is in love! How could such a thing happen? “What about your soul--“

                “The prophet only ever spoke about men. He knew better than to inquire about women. I think he knew what Allah does; women know what is best and act accordingly.”

                Roozbeh pursed his lips as he contemplated how well such an idea would go over with the imams. He tried to tear away her veil again.

                “And children?”

                “We will have them. No one needs to worry about it beyond that.” Fozhan said airily and Roozbeh threw up his hands. Well surely the Alemannians would not allow it anyway. He shouldn’t worry so much. The lady may weep for a few days about her failed engagement but she would forget all about this Waltraud soon enough. And it was just as this comforting thought that there was a knock on the door. Roozbeh opened it and received two messages. He opened first the one closed with the Alemannian royal seal.

                “The King wishes to discuss your engagement at a private dinner tomorrow night.” He announced and Fozhan seemed to glow at the very thought of such public acknowledgement. With a frown at her delighted expression he opened the second message.

                “And Lady Waltraud Anselmssohn requests you to take back all of the gifts you left in her chamber and to not bother her ever again with such a display.” Though he disapproved of his lady’s courtship of this woman he couldn’t help but to feel offended by such a rude request. He gave his charge a penetrating look; did she think someone with such a lack of manners still deserved a throne besides her?

                The idea didn’t seem to sink in however and the shah’s daughter only blinked at the information.

                “Anselmssohn, she’s one of the royal family then.”

                “Apparently so.” Roozbeh shrugged.

                “Ah, that makes it easier I think.” Her advisor however was not so certain. She raised her good wrist limply towards the nightstand. “Give me some of that medicine, Roozbeh, I feel like resting.”

                He drew out the dose for his lady and ushered her away to sleep. It was the best thing for her now. Perhaps in the morning she would even come to her senses. He drew the curtains shut and put a few more logs onto the fire. He called her ladies back in to attend her over the night. He would not yet sleep however. He drew up the collar of the heavy coat he had been forced to wear in this northern country and began to walk down the dark halls of the Castle of the Bear.

                His lady knew nothing of the woman she had given her heart to, but he would learn everything he could about her. Why must one duel for her? Why was she called the “Beast”? Why had she been adopted into the royal family?

                He had looked after Fozhan since she had been a small girl. To a court eunuch this was as close as he could ever come to having a child. There was pride in his position, won by inches since the time he had been sold as a young boy. Yet he also truly loved his mistress, though he would never infringe upon her dignity with such an admission.

                He knew from years at court it was dangerous to dig into any noble family’s secrets. He must protect his charge, but he must also obscure his trail of information. He filled his coin purse to the brim to ease tongues. He put a long hood over his head to obscure his identity. With a dagger in his belt he assaulted the night and all its mysteries.

 

 

 

 

                The gifts had felt like a backhanded slap to Waltraud. It was not enough to defeat her, but to imply her affections could be won by such gifts after such an indignity! It became clear then she was nothing but a prize to the Shah’s daughter. Damn this Princess Khadija Fozhan bin Midhat bin Imitiyaz of Parsa! What was she to her but a splendid dog to keep on a leash! She had surely been won to further some political agenda! She only fought for her lady who had brought her up in affection and had even made her a member of her family! That Parsi bitch was the same as all her other suitors!

                She had at first only wished to remain with Lady Röselein, to see her wish through to the very end. At first she had pitied the men who had pitted themselves against her, until their intentions had become clear. None wanted her to be the mother of their children, their wife, not even their lover. They wanted a slobbering mad bitch they could boast they had at the end of their leash. Some had been goaded by family members, and those cowards she had tried to spare, but she had never regretted the blood she had spilled in those duels.

                The princess at least would always wear her scar, when hers would soon be gone.

                It had taken the earlier memory of acting so shamefully like a child with Lady Röselein that kept her from tearing up the flowers, jewelry, silks and brocades. Instead she only penned an angry message and had left alone the hated reminders of her subjugation. They would be gone by morning and she ordered her page to remain gone until daybreak as well. She shut the door to her bedroom against the rankling view in the parlor.

                She was tempted to run free tonight, but knew to not risk angering Lady Röselein further, even if such a thing would heal her throbbing wound. The itching ran across her skin, every inch, in every intimate place. She bit down and ignored it and the indignant pain in her wrist. She crawled into bed and shut her eyes. Perhaps, somehow, she would find this had all been a terrible dream by morning. She ignored the knock at her chamber door and knew it had only been some messenger at the single knock. The letter would be there still in the morning, and she would speak to none right now.

                She found no dreams in her sleep however, only frustrated memories of the battle. She recalled the princess’ first heady charge at her and the color of her eyes, like black pearls. She had kept her face hidden so she may be impenetrable to her! That Parsi woman, she had played with her from the start! Why hadn’t she driven the blade into her heart when she’d had the chance?

                Earlier memories surfaced, of Röselein’s warm lap and smile. Of the smell of blood and the shinning of swords in battle. Of a long time ago when she had been very small, of standing before a great war horse and reaching up. They dissolved into phantasmagorical imprints of dark woods, cold snow, and crying out against a gaping void. It was at this deepest depth she was pulled up from by Ernst the page announcing from behind her bedroom door that Lady Röselein was here to see her.  She quickly dressed, pulling on only a robe and boots. She pulled her hair and shoulders back.

                She was ready to receive the orders for execution.

                Röselein, dressed hours ago in sumptuous black brocade, sat before her heavily in an armchair as Waltraud remained perched upon the bed. Her hand clenched, she would correct this mistake!

                “You will,” the lady began carefully after Ernst had been dismissed, “marry the Parsi princess.”

                Waltraud felt the ground open up and swallow her.

                “What?” was all she could gasp.

                “You will marry her.” Röselein held up the unopened message from last night, an order from the king. She must have received it as well. “The wheels are turning, and we can’t be crushed by them. You will marry that girl, and by that marriage I will at last be queen.”

                Waltraud blinked and sat forward. “How?”

                “Because…at your wedding, you are going to kill that damned pretender.” She caught Waltraud’s chin between her fingers and held the girl’s face gently as she gave abeaming grin. “So then it won’t matter if she takes you away, I will be queen, and we will have achieved all we have dreamed of for all these years.”

                She let Waltraud’s face go and raised her eyebrows. “Of course if you wish to remain with me, all you have to do is kill your bride as well. It will be the perfect opportunity, I promise.”

                “I will,” Waltraud promised. “I will never leave your side!”

                And with that conviction of loyalty, Lady Röselein outlined the plot of how they would at last overthrow her uncle who had stolen the throne so many years before. As Waltraud listened she became more and more convinced she must free herself to her burden, as she had relieved Röselein of hers.

                With wide jaws, dripping with blood.

                I am the Beast. I belong to no one but whom I wish to belong to. And reconciled, Röselein stroked Waltraud’s hair as the young woman sat with her head in her lap, as she had done when she was a child. Thus comforted she could only dream of sweet murder.

                For this chain had been placed years before, and she would wear no other. 

2: Two

 

                The first meeting of the families was as cautious as any such meeting is. It was arranged in the private quarters of the king, clustered around an intricately carved oak table and with as heavy chairs to match. The fare was catered to the king’s taste given its abundance of meat and salt. Fozhan tried to not cringe at the sour taste of the wine, not at all lessened by its watering down. How she longed for a taste of sherbet but knew there was likely none in the whole kingdom. She dared not even try the thick beer that looked as if it should be chewed over sipped. Why did these Alemannians apparently loathe the taste of water so much they had to choke it all in alcohol?

                She only nibbled at her meal, and could see everyone else save the king did the same. He was apparently the only one at ease. His niece affected a polite interest in all of her party and asked after their digestion, but her shoulders were tense and so was her smile. Roozbeh was as carefully civil, answering each question with a compliment or praise from his place besides his princess, who had chosen to reserve her speech, until her intended started to speak. Waltraud looked entirely disinterested, in conversation, in the meal, her engagement; she kept her face on the food she barely touched.

                She was dressed as a man again and Fozhan could only suppose this was her regular habit after all. Fozhan had tried to affect Alemannish dress in a gesture of good-will, matching her bride with her tunic and pants, with a dirndl and boots. She kept her niqab however, though of gossamer material that allowed the outline of her hair and face to be seen.

                She spent a few enjoyable seconds imagining her bride in Parsi clothing, for there was no great difference in men’s and woman’s clothing there; it was all elegant and flattering.

                Though Waltraud should always show her unusual face, full of wonder and mystery, and her beautiful black hair.

                The king drew their attention halfway through the meal by tapping his wine glass. He was a fairly impressive figure, every inch a former warrior. He was tall with broad shoulders and his arms still spoke of enough strength to wield a broadsword. Nevertheless his belly was rotund and heavy, slouching over his belt, the burden of age and luxury. His blue eyes were as hard as his niece’s, with none of the soft confusion of his youngest son.

                Fozhan had been briefed that morning by Roozbeh about how the royal family had come to be in their present state. The original conqueror had been this man’s older brother, subjugating the mother of the woman besides Waltraud. The original king had been slain in battle but instead of being succeeded by his only child he had been by his brother. Lady Röselein had been of the age to rule for years but her rights had been ignored.  She had been apparently content however to step aside and accept a marriage from her oldest cousin to solidify her role within the family.

                Fozhan hardly believed such a thing as she looked upon that woman’s proud face, especially as that son had been murdered. The official story was it had been the kill of the Beast of Lāndle, an intractable monster Lady Röselein and her charge Waltraud had battled for years in the countryside. It was said to be like a great wolf but far more vicious, bold, and cunning that any mortal animal. Though it had been pierced by sword and impaled many times by multiple arrows it always returned to kill again and again.

                It was said to be magical, for it had found its way into the hearts of fortresses. Some victims had been killed in their bed, left to be found with a torn out throat in the morning. This had been the case of the former Prince Lars. His wife had only left for about an hour to attend her son in his nursery, and had found her husband mutilated upon their very wedding bed.

                It was seen upon rooftops and in the darkest core of the forest. It could be found anywhere at any time. Day or night it could appear to wreak havoc. It was said the dogs could hear it coming and often fled in terror of it. It feared nothing. Nothing stopped it.

                 The demon still reigned in its small kingdom in the south, in the homeland of Lady Röselein’s mother, the former rulers of Alemannia, even if they had now been supplanted to Berlin. The province forever remained a thorn in the side of the Anselmssohn reign, piercing deep with ancient loyalties and seething former noble bloodlines.

                The killing of Prince Lars had been the reason why the pair had been summoned to Berlin, after all Lady Röselein’s son was the only grandchild of the king, the heir to the throne, and he must be kept safe.

                Fozhan wondered what the lady may do if she was to be remarried now with her convenient beast was hundreds of miles away.

                It was in that dark and obscure place Waltraud had apparently come from. Some eighteen years ago  while apparently learning the art of war from her mother the twelve year old Röselein had found a toddler in a village that had rebelled against her uncle’s reign. That and that every moment after had been spent in Lady Röselein’s company was all that was known about Waltraud. She had been trained by that woman and was driven by a bestial urge to kill. It was how she had earned the moniker “Beast”. It was said she had even at times torn out the throats of men, a monster for the reign of the Anselmssohns to match the demon snapping at their feet.

                A guardian, Fozhan was quite sure, and one she would have for her own people, clustered behind their walls.

                The Beast was demure under her keeper’s control however and didn’t even look up when the king began to speak. It was not out of offense of him as much as she, Fozhan, sitting directly across.

                “So, my most honored guest, Princess Khadija of Parsa, daughter of Shah Midhat the First--“

                “Please excuse me, my most gracious host,” Fozhan raised a hand. “Please call me “Fozhan”, for while the Prophet’s first wife is my namesake, Fozhan is my name. I am known as Khadija for state matters, true, but as this is my introduction to Lady Waltraud…”

                She spared a glance at the other woman who kept her gaze turned away, “with whom I will be sharing the rest of my life with; I want to be called what she will know me by.”

                Both Roozbeh and Waltraud repressed a sigh, and probably for about the same reason. Fozhan merely continued to beam at the befuddled king. Lady Röselein chuckled but hid her look of mirth behind her wine cup.

                “Princess Fozhan then,” Ludwig began again, also glancing at the repentant Waltraud who looked like she like to be just about anywhere else at the moment. “It would seem that you truly intend to claim our Lady Waltraud.”

                “Why else would I have risked my life by charging her with a sword?” Fozhan said airily but the serious implications of the statement remained and the king seemed to digest them.

                “A fair win, surely,” the king agreed. He looked at his niece. “But we must wonder what sort of marriage this will be.”

                “Oh no! My dear uncle, my king! Don’t assume I disapprove!” Lady Röselein cried. The king sat back, attempting to downplay his surprise.

                “I thought, of all people, you would disapprove most, my lady.” He said carefully. “Is not Lady Waltraud like your daughter? You would have kept her from every man, hence the duels.”

                “Because there was no man in Alemannia worthy of her,” Röselein inclined her head, as if trying to give her boasting a more ladylike edge to its cutting. “I would have never thought she could have been in such an advantageous position! Our dear little orphan who clung to my skirts against this hostile world until she became our great champion in Lāndle. I would have never given her to some minor noble brute. But now!”

                She looked at her adopted daughter from the corner of her eyes, “we can form an alliance with the great empire of Parsa. My daughter, a queen in her own right. This little foundling has proven herself worthy of such prestige!”

                She at last raised her head to look at her uncle fully, with a devouring expression of pride. There was no mockery or contempt in her face yet her lips trembled in victory still.

                “Though I know you may not think so, when you deny her a place at your table at all public meals, nevertheless, I assure you, I speak the truth.”

                Fozhan had no doubt of the woman’s hatred for the man she looked upon then. Waltraud blushed at the mention of her true position in the family, and Fozhan could not tell if it was in humiliation or indignation. The king scowled for a second but controlled his reaction, letting only his shoulders remain tense as he recovered from his niece’s challenge.

                But Röselein wasn’t done driving the knife in yet.

                “And, besides, Prince Franz obviously failed to catch the princess’ eye.” Lady Röselein reminded her uncle with a sigh.

                King Ludwig’s fist knotted and Fozhan felt that awkward feeling of being exposed to another family’s garrulous underbelly and not knowing if to laugh or run from the room. It was uncouth either way to have her stand as audience, but perhaps all marriage negotiations were this way. She pointedly sipped her wine.

                “You have not yet captured the Beast of Lāndle; I thought you never willingly let Lady Waltraud go before such a thing.” The king explained. Röselein tossed her elegant head.

                “Indeed, but I have most fortunately received word that the beast has been slain in our absence.” The lady smiled and speared a spoon into her scarlet pudding, a dish of boiled blood and fried intestines. “The corpse will be here for public display within a few days.”

                Here Waltraud at last looked up, in surprise or foreboding, it was hard to tell.

                “Indeed!” Cried Ludwig in true surprise and perhaps let himself be taken in by Waltraud’s wondering look. “So you have no use for her any longer.”

                For a second Röselein looked disgusted but only smiled primly as her mouth closed around her spoon. Waltraud kept her face carefully blank.

                “So it is,” the king insisted and at last looked at Fozhan. “Such a marriage will be difficult, but I cannot confess to know the will of the Parsi people. That is for you to know, my lady, but I will say this. If you two are banished, driven out, or imprisoned, Alemannia will offer no recourse. You two will be two wolves, left to wander the wilderness with no quarter.”

                He sat back, “but if it is a success, I will welcome your admission into our family.”

                Fozhan nodded, accepting this proposition elegantly though she felt Roozbeh stiffening besides her, knowing this was not the answer he had expected nor wanted. He should have known however the Alemannians were a pragmatic people and would always mitigate on the behalf of common sense. Thankfully they’d had this prince for her to ally with. The king accepted her acknowledgement and rounded back on his niece, the true target of this arrangement.

                “And the same shall go for you lady, as this will be your affair. If this marriage fails for any reason, it shall be your head.”

                “So I am aware, and as this has always been our agreement, I will serve you as competently and faithfully as always.” Röselein demurred and lowered her head, a true submissive of her king.  If this agreement kept the dangerous mother in line and in support of the union, Fozhan would allow her such authority. The sooner she removed Waltraud from this den of wolves however the better.

                “Then let us toast the new couple and announce their formal engagement on the eve of when the Beast of Lāndle is brought to court.” The king raised his wine cup and all followed. To taste wine, to marry a woman, how far Fozhan had gone from orthodoxy in this strange land that spoke of old gods and beasts in forests. How far she had gone from her chaste and modest figure at the Parsi court in these six months since she had left. Yet she had been called upon to be a great woman in extraordinary times and she would not shy away from her fate.

                After dinner Waltraud approached her for the very first time.  She waited until Roozbeh’s back was turned as they all left the chamber. She delicately pushed against Fozhan’s back to guide her a few steps away from her chaperone. Fozhan shivered at how large Waltraud’s hand seemed to be against the incline above her buttocks. She smiled at Roozbeh’s look of concern as she and her betrothed came to rest outside of earshot but not eyesight.

                “Please forgive my message the night before,” Waltraud began without leaning down so Fozhan was at eye level with her breasts, lost beneath her tunic and coat. “I was angry because I had lost.”

                “Forgive me for being impertinent, but I thought maybe such things softened the blow.”

                She looked up to see Waltraud give a tight, fake smile, and still without looking down at her. Yet her hand remained at the small of her back, neither tightening nor loosening.

                “Well, in any case, let me make amends.” She leaned down at last so Fozhan could see her face without craning her neck. “I have heard in Parsa they learn three things; to ride, to shoot, and to tell the truth. I would like to see for myself.”

                Fozhan’s heart fluttered involuntarily but she let it tickle her ribs in superb joy anyway.

                “Please, it would give me much joy to give you a mount from my own stables. Let us meet at dawn and I will show you my bow. Though I may not shoot it with my injury.” She stepped away, aware of Roozbeh’s mounting anger. Waltraud let her go, easily, yet with her hand hanging in the air, still cupping that incline. Fozhan smiled up at her.

                “But I will exchange the animals I may have killed for the truth I may speak.”

                She stepped back once more and turned away from her betrothed. Waltraud remained still for a few more seconds before continuing on the way she faced, and was quickly lost around a corner. Her mother had vanished long ago.

                “You let her touch you like that!” Roozbeh hissed in Parsi so their conversation would be lost on any passing ears on their way back towards their chambers

                “Please excuse a young girl’s heart,” Fozhan sighed. “For though she was smiling at me like a painted doll, her hands were genuine. Ah! That I would be held by those hands for the rest of my life!”

                Roozbeh frowned, “you know she is only faking her interest?”

                “Of course. I have sat across from enough of my father’s concubines to know when another woman wishes me death,” Fozhan beamed up at her advisor. “She only invited me, I am sure, because Lady Röselein suggested it though they contrived to not have it look so. What mother bolts so quickly away when her daughter is paying court?”

                Roozbeh sighed, “I must advise again this is a most disastrous choice.”

                “It will be enough if I can get to know her, and she me,” Fozhan said confidently.

                “And you will be chaperoned tomorrow,” Roozbeh reminded her sternly. Fozhan merely nodded, agreeing to mollify him that at least her virtue would be untouched by the time she got to the marriage bed. Though the very thought of what a woman may do to her there sent a thrill down every nerve, to the very tips of her toes and fingers. 

                The chance to be near Waltraud was worth every difficulty.

 

 

 

 

                Waltraud was bemused at how exactly to approach this morning. To coax the affection of someone she hated was loathsome and stood in bald rejection of all her principles. Yet she needed the girl’s trust to enact Lady Röselein’s plan. She felt she already had the Parsi princess’ love for no reason she could comprehend other than a sort of conceited and shallow appreciation. The feeling of being a trapping to vanity came every time that girl looked at her, and she hated it.

                That girl was going to find her world painted in blood and she would deserve it.

                Yet the wish to punish her for her pride still didn’t move Waltraud’s heart. She had no true desire to inflict suffering upon another being no matter what they had done to her. Deep down she wished she wasn’t a part of something like this at all. She loved battle, her heart sang whenever she fought a worthy opponent, the great clash of strength and skill had fueled her life. Her love for Lady Röselein had given it all meaning. Yet she had never killed when she didn’t need to, and she had never tortured anyone.

                And despite this worthless love she was being given by the Parsi, she knew she was tormenting the princess by being untrue.

                She closed her eyes against such thoughts as they rode out from the stable yard and into the country. She had her mission and must fulfill it, as she always did.

                By her side was Ernst, her page, to attend them. Besides the princess was the man called “Roozbeh”, their chaperone. He was a polished noble servant by his elegant nails and clear skin. He had no beard however and Waltraud wondered if this was due to his African heritage or if perhaps he was one of those who had been cut as a boy. Though even if he had never seen battle Waltraud knew to be leery of him, cut or not. She knew devotion when she saw it and knew most of all what a cutting blade it was.

                The princess was riding astride as she did, albeit in her native garb. They rode the small chargers the princess had brought with her, tiny beasts that pranced and tossed their exquisite heads in anticipation. It was a much narrower seat than her Heinrich’s back but she perched deftly upon the small mare and appreciated her capable feet.

                The princess had indeed shown her the exquisite bow and asked her if she wanted one at Waltraud’s admiring glance. Though she had been refused the princess had insisted Waltraud use it for hunting. In Ernst’s bag there were five rabbits by noon, shot cleanly by the fine Parsi arrows. There would have been more if not for the pain in her wrist that made her clumsy. The princess had dared to chide her about it but Waltraud had ignored her, and the little twit had apparently taken Waltraud testing her threshold of agony as an urge to impress her, by her smirk. To further the ruse Waltraud had made sure to promise the pelts to her mutilated bride and the girl had giggled in glee.

                Most of the conversation of the morning had been centered on the Alemannian countryside. Waltraud had found herself explaining the flow of the local economy around Berlin, about their crops and flocks. About the pernicious beauty of the fall in lieu of the harshness of winter. The names of plants and flowers. Nothing substantial yet filling; the princess had a gift for conversation and Waltraud knew to be wary of it.

                It was mid day that the wall at last began to crack after being worn down all morning. Waltraud had turned away to look at a distant herd of deer, she let loose an arrow but the stag moved before it could land. She sighed as she watched him bound away into the forest after his hinds; somehow more satisfied her unsteady hand had left him living. She turned away from her miss and found only Roozbeh had seen. The man met her eyes but as he always did he quickly looked away in a muted dislike. She found no offense, for she could understand his position perfectly as she recalled Prince Lars.

                She walked back up the gentle hillock they had perched upon. The spread had been set by Ernst beneath a twisted oak tree, likely alive with spirits. She could imagine the great serpent sleeping beneath their feet as she looked up at the branches that seemed to reach out into eternity. She paused at the brief flash of the present playing out before her as Ernst said something to the princess that made her smile. He quickly stepped back however when he saw his mistress approaching. Waltraud walked forward in chagrin; she had taught that boy to always tell the truth.

                “Ernst told me he was once a slave, chattel from after a rebellion, and you took him in.” She informed Waltraud as she sat down on the blanket. Roozbeh and Ernst were now preoccupied in watering the horses.

                “Mm.” Waltraud nodded in confirmation, it was nothing extraordinary to her. The princess looked up at her.

                “He thinks a lot of you, you know.”

                “He wouldn’t serve me if he didn’t,” she shrugged. “He’s free, to do whatsoever he wishes.”

                That had been the promise she had given him when she had bought him from the slave market. And he had followed her, all the way from Lāndle. She could not say why she had chosen that small redhead, freckled and fair, to save. Perhaps it had just been the way he had been grinding his teeth as he had stood on the platform. Perhaps it had been all the stories Röselein had told her of her mother’s people.

                Perhaps it had just been the same sort of feeling Röselein had felt for her.

                The princess paused before she picked up a sausage. “Can we say the same for you?”

                “I serve whomsoever I wish.” Waltraud said staunchly and the princess seemed to accept this. At her pause Waltraud struck.

                “You Parsi are taught to tell the truth.” She said and the princess raised an eyebrow at her. “So tell me it; why would you take a woman for a spouse?”

                The princess set her sausage down and sat back against the tree. The shadows shifted across her dark eyes and they seemed to gleam in such flickering light. The serpent that lived beneath them all.

                “Because when I saw you, I felt as though I loved you.” She said bluntly and Waltraud felt her innards clench at knowing this was not a lie.

                “If it’s that, then why not a concubine? A lover? Would you really marry me in place of a man?” she pressed.

                “You demanded nothing else.” The princess simpered and Waltraud glowered.

                “Your people are not mine. They don’t worship our gods, and are much more restrictive than us. How can you possibly think they will accept me? Or do you intend to let us live as wolves for your love?”

                The princess grimaced and Waltraud knew she had at last pierced her core. Here was the true reason she was needed, and it was not love.

                “For the last five years we have heard of a great power rising in the steppes above us. We have prepared for the invasion as best we can with walls. Yet we keep hearing of atrocities in those nations near us and of the rise of an even greater army. It will only be a matter of time before our defenses are pierced and we must fight the Horde in our homeland. And when that happens--“

                She dropped her head. “I know we will need a great champion.”

                Waltraud smirked, knowing all along her hatred had been justified.

                “So you would take me away from my people to fight for yours.” The princess looked up at this condemnation. And forgetting herself in her anger and Lady Röselein’s orders to fake good will, Waltraud sneered at her. Well, let’s see how far you get with that!

                “It’s the only way I could get them to love you as I do--“ There was suddenly a far off whizzing, something tearing across the air. Waltraud looked away from the princess and forgot her entirely. For in her face was a point, and a second later it would have shattered her temple to impale her brain. Her hand held steady, as her injured one remained limp at her side.

                The arrow that had meant to kill her had been loosened from where the stag had fled, across a field and before the scared oak.

                The princess took the arrow from her stunned hand and picked up the bow that had been deposited at the base of the tree. With a muted scream she tore at her wound as she loosened the arrow towards where it had come. Waltraud flinched as she heard a distant scream to echo the princess’. She signaled for Ernst and Roozbeh to quickly bring over the horses. The princess’ hand stopped her however; it gripped her just above the elbow as she panted in pain, the blood spilling across her shirt.

                “How.” She gasped as she raised her head to look up at betrothed. “How did you hear it…?”

                Waltraud shrugged her off and the hand fell away. The princess was far too painful to keep her grip and Waltraud could only hope she would forget her fearful question in the aftermath. She turned to run towards the forest and Ernst soon fell into step with her, leading two trotting horses. Waltraud quickly swung up onto the moving mount, though she nearly overreached and fell as she was unused to the animal’s diminutive stature. Nevertheless she charged into the undergrowth and arrived at where her would be assassin had been slain before a rowan tree.

                He was wearing a red kerchief which was likely how the princess had seen him from the distance. The arrow had caught him in the throat, severing an artery in the process by the blood splatter on the wood. Waltraud frowned as this was not a man she recognized and his rough attire would indicate a mercenary of some sort. Perhaps a former soldier that while now unfit to fight could still kill from afar. She stepped down from her mount as she was joined by the other three. She ignored them and propriety as she began to search his clothes for clues.

                “Ah!” she at last gave a disgusted sigh after she had rifled through every pocket. Not even a coin purse! Was he to be paid after he had finished his task?

                “Tracks.” Roozbeh announced from atop his steed as his lady continued to shake on hers. He steadied her as Waltraud walked over to where he pointed. It was true, there were tracks of at least three horses, and by the loose dust they had taken off in a gallop towards the river.

                “Shall we follow?” Ernst asked as he turned his horse around.

                “If Sir Roozbeh will take his charge back to the castle,” Waltraud glanced at the ashen faced lady as she re-mounted. She looked at Ernst.”And you will take the body back.”

                “You will go alone?” The princess frowned.

                “I can handle them alone.” Waltraud glowered. She shivered as that itching, hot and virile, poured across her skin. She put a hand on her other arm to calm the sensation. Not until she was upon them, then she would unleash the Beast in her full glory. The princess looked at her for a long time and perhaps recalling how she had heard that arrow nodded.

                “If the lady will come to my quarters afterwards,” The princess insisted and Waltraud shut her mouth against scoffing.

                “Of course,” she inclined her head in submission, showing she too could play this dangerous and deadly game. The princess’ escort dismounted to help Ernst with the body and she was left alone. She gave Waltraud a penetrating look that the other woman avoided by plunging her horse into the river to follow the trail of her hunters.

                Whoever would hunt the Beast, to whatever end, each one would find their head between her wide and gleaming jaws.

 

 

 

 

                Wolves are as given to being hunted as to hunting. Humanity dogged their heels, their eternal enemy, the reflection and other self. For this, they alone hunted the wolf. Only man could stand equal to a wolf, and how fitting she hunted them as a woman.

                “Will you not strip down?” Brynhild muttered as she kept herself flat against the cold and wet earth.

                “My lady?” her companion asked and she shook her head. The horses had been let to run wild miles before, to confuse the trail. She would have thought the woman would have continued to follow that false trail, but she had paused to stop at this very point. She nearly stood right on their heads. Unless she came down the river bank she would not see the hollow beneath the oak tree they sheltered under, but that was the question. Would she come down? And what skin would she wear when she arrived?

                Brynhild narrowed her eyes. Those morons should have known a wolf would never be slain by a mere arrow. She had tried to tell them! But they had refused to listen. What did a foreign woman know about their own beasts? She licked her fangs, but perhaps now they would heed and she would at last meet Grimhild.

                The woman sighed and remounted her tiny steed. Being so tall she looked ridiculous upon such a small horse, but Lady Waltraud was never concerned about mere appearances it would seem. The horse galloped off, following the surreptitious hoof prints, and Brynhild gave her own regretful sigh.

                “Sister,” she called softly after as she climbed up the knotted roots of the tree. “How magnificent you are! How I have longed to see you again.”

                “Lady Dagmar?” Her companion asked. She smirked at him, her fellow foot soldier in this war for a king. Only she and her sisters however fought against the world. How she longed to know her ally once again; to have someone who would understand, someone who knew. Someone who felt the trembling of the very world.

                “We must get back to the castle Sir Kjars,” she said as she pulled herself up onto the bank. “We may have escaped her for now, but we need to make this ruse complete.”

                Her man nodded and began to uncover their boat that had been hidden amongst the undergrowth. Dagmar sat upon the bank, enjoying the weak autumn sunshine as she spread out her skirt. She lifted her face towards the blue sky and smiled at the gathering storm on the horizon.

                “Until the day we can meet.”

 

 

 

 

                Lady Röselein met her at the gate of the castle with a mantle in hand. Ernst stood beside her, his hair plastered to his cheeks. She tossed the mantle over Waltraud’s head, though the woman was soaked after an afternoon hunting across the countryside. She hid her wrist in the folds, the bandage had come off and her wrist had long since healed. She met her mistress’ eyes and shook her head. She had chased after nothing and caught nothing. She may as well have chased after shadows.

                “You lost your horse?” Röselein asked her as they began to move towards the west wing. She glanced back at Ernst and Waltraud guarded her answer.

                “It wasn’t fast enough.” She answered and Röselein glanced meaningfully at her hidden wrist. Ernst saw nothing and heard nothing. Röselein pushed Waltraud towards her chambers before her handmaiden could be snatched away by the authorities. Ernst was left to stand guard outside the door.

                “That wretched bastard; he’s getting desperate if he would assassinate you.” Röselein fumed as she pulled a dry shirt out for Waltraud to wear. She caught the shirt easily but paused before pulling off her soaked one.

                “The assassin was surely a paid man, there were two more who got away, far more capable and competent.” Waltraud opined.

                “A spare to test you with.” Röselein sighed as she sank into her chair. She looked away as Waltraud stripped before her.

                “Before the true attack,” Waltraud agreed as she slipped the dry shirt on.

                “So, we’ll just have to strike first, next time.” Röselein glowered. Waltraud turned away.  She had been the target; would they go after the Parsi princess next? No, only if they were true idiots. A war with Parsa would be disastrous for King Ludwig, and not just because it would be the perfect time for the southern provinces to at last revolt as one united front.

                 Röselein may be next, but her life had always been in danger. The only time she had truly been safe was during her pregnancy with Prince Jakob, but now that the boy was five years old he no longer needed his mother. Waltraud raised her head; it could have very well been an attempt to leave the woman vulnerable.

                And it had failed, as it always did.

                Röselein’s grip on her arm interrupted her thoughts. The woman re-bandaged her wrist with a frown.

                “An injury like this usually takes months to heal. Though soon enough it won’t matter.” The woman sighed.

                “I must meet with the Parsi woman tonight, she had me promise her.” Röselein raised her head to smirk at her. “But I will return afterwards.”

                “Don’t fear for me child, trust in your allies.” Röselein chuckled.

                “But all the same.” Waltraud dropped her wrist. “I will return.”

                Röselein smiled and bowed her head. She walked away to sit in a corner and begin her embroidery again on a tapestry that would commemorate her father’s crowning. As Waltraud left Prince Jakob was lead in by one of Röselein’s women, his mother’s protection in the night. Waltraud patted his blond head as he passed and he gave her a gap toothed smile. He was one of the few people that found comfort in the Beast’s company, but after all he had known her since the moment he had been born inside a tent on the border of Ländle.

                After she closed the door to the chamber she put a hand on Ernst’s shoulder.

                “Hey, be careful. Stay away from those you don’t know, and stay near me.” She told him softly. Ernst blinked at her but she only continued to frown.

                “Whatever my lady orders,” it was an expected response but a comforting one. Waltraud indicated for him to follow her, as always.

                As also expected she was stopped by some of the castle guard and ushered in to speak with their captain. She told him all that she knew that there had been at least three assailants, two of which were still missing, that the two survivors had created a fake trail by letting their horses free while escaping on foot or by boat. She had lost her own horse in a fall.  She confessed to having no leads or idea who had masterminded such a thing, or why. She let the man blame the marginalized southern population. It would only be in Lady Röselein’s favor if Ludwig further enraged the southern nobles with an investigation. She left the interview feeling more secure in her position and that Röselein’s vision of victory within the next year was more definite than ever.

                With a sigh she at last reached the east wing of the castle, the luxury apartments of the nobles close to the king’s family and distinguished visitors. The moon had risen hours before and peered down through the great west towers of the castle, where distantly Lady Röselein tended her child, and perhaps the king sat in fear. Waltraud turned away and only looked forward as she walked to the quarters of her betrothed, her own dilemma to ponder in the night.

                When she was lead in by a maidservant she was doused in the heady aroma of something like frankincense, but lighter, spicier, some fragrance she had never smelled before; it was like dissolved summer sunlight. She chased after the scent as she followed the girl into the dim room, only lit by the fireplace. Her hunt was interrupted as a woman stood up at her appearance. She rose up above the smoke like a slim phantom, her veil following the flutter of her body across the hazy expanse. Waltraud stepped back into Ernst at the rush, but found her hands captured all the same.

                “Oh Lady Waltraud, how happy I am to see you!” she cried and Waltraud at last knew her as the Parsi princess. The woman’s quick eyes glanced behind Waltraud. “And Sir Ernst.”

                She blinked at the silence of both of them. “What?”

                “I just didn’t expect…your face…” Waltraud swallowed. “To be so…plain.”

                It was circular with high cheekbones and a weak chin. The mouth was too wide and the nose too large to compliment such a small space. The princess blinked again at the assessment and then laughed. At that moment, with her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed, Waltraud felt as though she had perhaps spoken too soon.

                “I cover my face in public to be modest, but I reveal it in intimacy only to be humbled again.” She snorted and tilted her head. “But my dear Lady Waltraud you too know how little beauty matters.”

                Waltraud, who indeed had never been vain about her looks, didn’t take any offense by the force of the princess’ smile. She found herself chuckling at the turn of wit and ignored Ernst’s surprised glance. The princess leaned forward eagerly, her hips gently brushing Waltraud’s thighs, an unintentional intimacy, and one Waltraud could barely stand.

                “Come, sit.” She began to pull on Waltraud’s hands but was stopped.

                “I lost your horse,” Waltraud informed her. The princess deflated slightly, as if, for a second, reality had not mattered here.

                “Oh, I know. But Sheba found her way back. They’re quite a smart sort of horse, the Gharab breed.” She looked up at Waltraud with some gravity. “You were unseated?”

                “Only by my own distraction. Your horse turns faster than I am used to.” Waltraud shrugged. “So I fell.”

                The princess raised her eyebrows at such an explanation. “And you didn’t find that man’s accomplices?”

                “No, they planted a false trail by letting their horses loose.” Waltraud brushed past the princess and towards the fire. She looked into the light as she absorbed its warmth. “Are you afraid for yourself?”

                “No, only that you may have been hurt.” She heard a flutter of footfall behind her as the princess whipped into her crowd of attendants and pulled out a rotund little man. She shoved the unfortunate attendant towards Waltraud. Their eyes met and the Alemannian could see by his proud, even haughty look, this was no submissive eunuch but a chosen free man.

                “This is Mehrab the Khorasani, our physician. Please let him look at any injuries you incurred during your chase.”

                “There were none,” Waltraud pronounced and stepped away from the man, her wrist surreptitiously hidden in the folds of her mantle. The Khorasani, for his part, seemed relieved to not have to lay his hands on the Alemannian woman.

                “Then would you let him look at your wrist?” The princess pressed again.

                “It is healing fine.” Waltraud turned away. “How is your shoulder after you tore open the stitches?”

                “Oh Mehrab reclosed the front of the wound. He has the most interesting technique of not closing both sides of an impalement wound but leaving one side open to drain.” Waltraud glanced over her shoulder at this sundry information. The princess seemed happy to further show her knowledge of healing. “That is why I am also bandaged. That way the wound fills in from one side to the other and will not abscess. It is a most successful technique for these kind of wounds.”

                “My lady dressed my wound and I have always healed under her care,” Waltraud answered in a warning tone that could have easily been interpreted as pride. The princess seemed to deflate and the physician seemed disgusted by what he gleaned from the conversation in Alemannish. The princess left the subject alone and came to stand by Waltraud’s side again.

                “Sit. I have a dinner prepared.” She insisted. Waltraud relented as she was indeed hungry and had a debt to fulfill besides.

                As after all the princess had saved her life this day.

                Waltraud found herself and Ernst sitting on the floor with the princess, her man and the doctor. The food was served on the elaborate, woven rug they sat upon, for Parsa must not have as many cold floors as Alemannia. It was a great variety of dishes served in silver containers, smelling as heady as the incense that curled in the corner. Waltraud and Ernst both watched to see how the princess ate, and it was with dainty bits plucked with precision from the dishes. The handmaidens sat with bowed heads in a half circle behind their mistress, but readily served drinks when a glass was raised. The wine tasted of roses, a light variety Waltraud recognized from the Rheine Valley. The food was also Alemannian but spiced and served in ways that Waltraud could only assume were native to Parsa.

                She nearly choked when she tasted lamb flavored with something like pepper, but was much more sharp and burning. Thankfully she kept to the apparent rule of small portions at a time and tasted everything else with a reserved curiosity. The princess smiled indulgently at her tears and Waltraud ignored her. She let the conversation flow around her and stay between the princess and the man Roozbeh and even Ernst at times as he slowly lost his habitual shyness with strangers. The conversation remained superficial, never too deep. Waltraud was sure however she would soon be plucked for a more private conversation about what had happened in the morning.

                After the dinner was taken away and all were asked how they enjoyed it, a select few of the handmaidens began to dance. They wore bells upon their wrists and ankles that didn’t at all hinder their graceful and powerful movements. Ernst’s mouth fell slightly open to watch a woman’s hips move that way. They kept in time with nothing but the joyous noise of their dance, the delicate chiming of one another’s bracelets and anklets. In the interplay of movement, music, and light the maidens seemed to assume forms never before seen by any eyes, larger and more fearsome than any monster, and more beautiful and charming than any faerie. It was at the height of this fury that the princess pulled Waltraud away.

                She pulled her towards a window, in the corner farthest from the firelight. She carried a candle and placed it in a holder so that they alone could see one another. Waltraud inhaled, knowing the questions coming and hoping she was clever enough to baffle this woman. She would not be surprised if Roozbeh was looming within the huddled darkness, even despite seeing his slender form by the fire still. Devoted eyes saw further than anyone else’s.

                “Is the entertainment pleasing to you Lady Waltraud?” the princess asked softly.

                “Yes.” Waltraud rocked back on her heels, wondering how many superficial questions she was going to be asked before she was pierced to the core. The princess accepted the taciturn with a generous smile.

                “I am glad,” the princess continued. “My girls are wearing the traditional costume of our court and I wished for them to perform a popular dance. I would like to show you all the beauty of my homeland.”

                “It was lovely.” Waltraud reassured her and the princess stepped closer, leaning in close for the attack.

                “And you know nothing of who attacked you?” she asked softly.

                “It was likely the people we’ve been fighting in the south for years.” Waltraud began her well rehearsed lie. “Those who resent King Ludwig’s rule, the last survivors of the dynasty that ruled before. I have assisted Lady Röselein for years in putting down their rebellions, and this is far from the first time they’ve tried this.”

                Waltraud smirked. “And they will fail again and again.”

                “You know if you need any help, I can offer my own people.” Waltraud resisted rolling her eyes, imagining just how eager Roozbeh and that doctor would be to investigate such a thing. She likely wake up with a knife in her back first! She patted one of the princess’ hands.

                “The king will handle it; I trust my life to him.” She smiled and tried to not let the corners of her mouth quiver in mirth. The princess looked at her for a long time, doubtful, but she at last nodded, accepting only perhaps that Waltraud was lying to her. She turned away and Waltraud let herself breathe a sigh of relief that for now she had survived.

                The princess suddenly clapped her hands together and a serving girl moved away from her charge of wine. Waltraud tensed as she heard the girl walk away into the bedroom, ruffle about, and then re-enter the parlor. She let no anxiety play upon her face however. After all it would be as strange for her to know trajectory of the girl by ear alone as it would be for her to know her skirt was dusted with rose pollen and her feet clotted with dirt from the stables.

                “Please be careful,” was all the princess said to conclude their conversation about the assassination attempt. Waltraud blinked, not daring to hope that was the end of the discussion. She straightened her stance as the princess turned back towards her. At her smile Waltraud knew she was only preparing for the next strike.

                Waltraud let herself smile before she glanced behind her as the girl at last came upon them. She was holding something wrapped in a few silk scarves. She carefully deposited the bundle into the arms of her mistress, as carefully as one would an infant. Waltraud inhaled; another bauble then? It smelled of fur and dirt. She stepped back as the small pile cried out.

                “I know my other gifts were unwanted, but I feel as though this is something else you need, my lady.” The princess smiled and dismissed her handmaiden. She pulled back a scarf to reveal a small black kitten. It looked up at Waltraud with the milky blue eyes of infancy, and yawned, far less perturbed by the Beast than most of her kin. 

                You have already lived with humans too long, was her severe judgment of the kitten, if she had already adopted their complacency with what they couldn’t see. The princess suddenly pushed the miniscule creature at Waltraud and she had to accept it into her hands.

                “In one village I traveled through they had killed all their cats because they thought the creatures had ushered in a recent plague. I found her alone and took her into my care. For I believe cats are the sort of creatures who reward kindness.” The princess waved a piquant finger in the face of the kitten that just blinked at it. Waltraud sighed; perhaps you are just stupid then.

                “So, name her.” The princess said. Waltraud blinked and she frowned at her confused expression. “Name her.”

                “I…” Waltraud started to protest. I have never done such a thing. The princess made an impatient motion with her hands.

                “For an entire week I have had her unnamed, waiting for someone to name her. It won’t do for her to remain nameless!”

                “Why can’t you?” Waltraud snapped and the princess shook her head.

                “Because once you name a cat you own it forever. She is waiting to give her gift to someone and I have waited for someone to give her to.” The princess sighed. “So name her!”

                “Why didn’t you take the gift for yourself?” Waltraud frowned.

                “Because I have enough in this world. I have love, wealth, power…and generosity.” She looked up at Waltraud with a smile that could devour the night itself; it illuminated the space between them brilliantly. “So I will give her to someone who needs more kindness in her world.”

                Waltraud felt her innards quiver in an urge to reject that light reaching out towards her. Is this really all you want? Her heart hid behind the wall rising up from deep within. No, once I accept this, then she’ll ask me. How I heard the arrow. How I could have possibly lost her horse.

                “Then her name will be…” Waltraud looked down at the small beast sleeping in her hands as she charged at her opponent. She hesitated; she really hadn’t done this before. “B-blackie. Blackie. Her name will be Blackie.”

                “Blackie.” The princess repeated and giggled. Waltraud snorted in humiliation as she had, after all, said the first thing that had come to mind upon looking at the kitten.

                “Blackie then,” she stroked the kitten’s head, laying the name upon her like a mantle. Waltraud exhaled and found the tension gone from her body. Somehow she felt a little at peace to be holding the slumbering creature in her hands, even as she realized she had just accepted a gift from the princess.

                “You saved my life today,” The princess looked up at her in surprise. Waltraud bowed her head. “Is there not something you want?”

                “A kiss, a smile, and I’ll let you on your way Lady Waltraud.” The princess said grandly and offered a cheek. Waltraud watched her for a few seconds, wondering if perhaps she was being mocked. The princess cleared her throat in impatience after seconds had passed. With no further explanation given, or possible, Waltraud found herself obliging her request. Her lips brushed soft skin smelling of rose water and the traces of pungent oil and sweat from her hair. When they parted Waltraud remembered her request to smile, and she did, one of perhaps bewilderment, and perhaps even pleasure as the princess seemed to soak in some delight by the curl of her lips.

                “Good night.” She was let go.

                “Good night.” She was left to drown in confusion. Is this all you really wanted? She looked down at the kitten. My happiness?

                As she left the room Waltraud carefully pulled along Ernst who was earnestly courting a handmaiden who couldn’t want less than anything to do with him. Sex sapped the warrior’s spirit, and the heart was the most vulnerable part of the body. She would like her page to be in better condition than herself.

                “What’s that?”He pointed at the scarves cradled in one hand and against her chest as they walked back towards Lady Röselein’s room.

                “A gift of kindness,” Waltraud told him and he fell silent. He after all would know from surely whom, and in accepting it, must know Waltraud no longer hated the princess of Parsa. Perhaps he was even impressed in her bold stance of bringing the kitten along with her as she guarded her mistress. Lady Röselein accepted the small intruder with a shrug, perhaps ignoring the threat to her singularity in Waltraud’s world.

                After all, she never did ask where the cat had come from. 

3: Three

As promised, the morning the Beast of Ländle was dragged into the courtyard of the palace the engagement of Princess Khadija Fozhan of Parsa and Lady Waltraud Anselmssohn of Alemannia was announced.

In curiosity Fozhan had descended into the courtyard from her high perch in the east wing to look upon the great corpse. She even allowed her women to trail behind, though she strictly forbade them to make an unseemly fuss at seeing such a large and grotesque creature. They still grimaced upon seeing the great stinking body upon the cobblestone, but beyond pulling their veils tighter to their faces they kept their repulsion and horror hidden.

Fozhan carefully adjusted her own veil as she stepped forward to look upon the frozen snarl of the wolf. It was an honor now accorded her as a potential member of the family of the prince this monster had murdered in his bed. The jaws were certainly large enough to crush a human neck. Indeed this wolf seemed far larger than most of its kin, perhaps a hybrid with some breed of large dog. In death it was still possible to see the powerful muscles in its shoulders and haunches, the width and sharpness of its teeth, its large paws and great eyes. It was easy to see how this beast had terrified an entire countryside and how its legends would frighten generations after.

Nevertheless those eyes were now clouded, murky, the gums were pale and soon those fearsome teeth would fall out, the muscles would wither away and collapse as the body decayed. All that would remain were memories of the beast and its victims, forever tied together by the same terrible thread. The slain monster was pitiful in its repose; no peace had been given at its violent end. Fozhan looked away from the sight and caught Waltraud's golden eyes, eyes so like a wolf's she realized for the very first time, and the other woman turned away, also apparently taking no pleasure in the demise of such a creature, though she had chased after it for years. Fozhan wondered briefly if Waltraud had been the one to kill her quarry if the death would not have held such a lasting horror.

The man who had killed the beast proudly put a foot upon its neck and began regaling the crowd with the tale of how it had been at last killed. He was a large shouldered man with a mane of red hair; it was easy to believe he had managed to pierce the heart of the creature with a spear. With his large hands he mimicked the stabbing motion that had saved his life when the wolf had leapt at him. Fozhan turned away as he began boasting of the tattoo he would commission to commemorate the battle, lifting up his shirt to indicate that he would place it above his left nipple. And to him, Gilbert the Bear, possessor of an impressive coat of hair, an estate would be surely given by King Ludwig.

Fozhan spent the rest of the day preparing for the engagement feast. She let her ladies bathe her in hot water, wash every inch of her, and braid her hair. They cleaned her fingernails and rubbed her skin with pungent oil. They spent hours debating what outfit she was to wear for her first public appearance with her bride, the formal acknowledgement of their pending union. It would be her introduction to the Alemannian nobility. The first step towards infamy.

She had yet to write her father to inform him that her quest was over. It was not from shame, but it was from apprehension. A female husband was unexpected, unprecedented; it would be the greatest challenge of Fozhan's life. She dared not inform him until the union was secure, unbreakable. She could not convince him of the righteousness of her decision from afar, and her father could send an army on word alone. She knew he would hear of the match before the marriage was complete, but it would remain a rumor until he received her letter.

And after then, she would face whatever came.

When the hour for dinner finally came she met her bridegroom before the doors of the great hall. She was flanked by Roozbeh, Waltraud was by Lady Röselein. For once, however, Fozhan thought, they had eyes for each other alone. Waltraud was dressed splendidly, in a man's red silk tunic and delicately embroidered golden mantle. Fozhan recalled the kiss to her cheek only two nights before and blushed beneath her brocade veil. She was dressed in sumptuous silks of green and blue in the dress of her homeland, in a flowing tunic gathered at the waist with a wide and embroidered girdle. She took Waltraud's hand and with heads held up high they walked to face the king at the head of all the tables of the hall.

They turned to be announced to the clamoring crowd of nobles, all of whom had already heard of the notorious couple. They cheered appropriately, whatever they privately thought of their king legalizing such a union. Hand in hand Parsa stood with Alemannia and perhaps that was the only thing that mattered.

Those hands were wrapped with a flower wreath by an old godi, her tattoos well faded by age but still giving her skin an unfortunate look of being full of veins. The crone was apparently the spiritual advisor of the king, a distant relation of the late queen brought all the way from Oland. After apparently invoking the god of marriage with a sonorous chant the priestess informed them a cow would be slaughtered in their honor. Fozhan thanked her politely and Waltraud nodded, and with a smile the old woman untied their hands.

"May you be married in two weeks; I have divined that as the most beneficial time for the ceremony." She told them and she was thanked again for her services. She bowed and with some gravity she moved away to take her place amongst the family of the late queen. She sat beside a young woman with a pointed face that Fozhan noticed never stopped staring at Waltraud.

The couple was allowed to take their seats and perhaps for the first time Waltraud was allowed to sit at the king's table. It was not without a glower from Prince Franz and Fozhan let herself smirk at him as Waltraud ignored him. Waltraud chose to remain silent during most of the dinner and Fozhan realized it was not because of the sulky resentment of the private supper with the king. By her tense shoulders and averted gaze; she was simply uncomfortable eating in front of so many people, raised upon a platform for all to see. Fozhan sat back, amused at the observation Waltraud had some shyness to her, but also regretful such a thing would be a regular part of their lives.

She was taking the Beast out of the wilderness and into civilization.

Below the table, where none could see, Fozhan kept a hand on Waltraud's arm. The other woman flinched at first, but slowly relaxed beneath the touch. Roozbeh spoke indulgently of Fozhan as a child; for though he didn't approve of the union he was a sentimental man and still struck by the idea of his charge becoming a bride. In particular he explained why she had been named "Fozhan", for she always had had a loud voice, even as an infant squalling to be fed. Waltraud snickered at such a description but her face was blank when Fozhan turned to look at her. Lady Röselein was far more discreet in her nostalgia but she did share that she "never thought this day would come".

After the meal there was music, dancing and the riddles of the court jester. Roozbeh made a disapproving sound when Fozhan pulled on Waltraud's arm to join the forming lines. She ignored him as Waltraud slowly stood up and stared forward like a cornered deer. Roozbeh stood as well.

"Your injury," he reminded her. Fozhan beamed, it was a very weak excuse indeed!

"I won't raise my arms." She reassured him and before he could find another one Fozhan pulled Waltraud down to the dance floor.

"I don't know any of your dances; you'll have to show me." Fozhan informed Waltraud as they took their places opposite of each within the two lines; she on the women's side, Waltraud on the men's for she was at least dressed for such a thing. Waltraud raised her eyebrows at her admission.

"They are nothing like what your ladies did. You may not enjoy them."

"It matters not what the steps are, I never get to dance in public at home. That is given to servants alone." Fozhan told her and Waltraud sighed.

"I have not danced the man's role before; Lady Röselein did so when she taught me." Waltraud frowned.

"It is more experience than what I have." Fozhan encouraged and raised on her tiptoes as the music began. It was a simple melody played upon a lute and a few pipes.

"Men lead, follow me." Was Waltraud's last instruction before the first step began. Despite Fozhan's expectation it proved to be a simple, even rigid affair of turns, skips, and bows. Waltraud had been astute in her observation that the two modes of dancing were so unalike they may as well been two different activities entirely.

Yet the unique aspect of men and women dancing together, something that was never seen at the Parsi court, thrilled Fozhan even as she remained at her bride's side. To watch the difference in the movement of male and female bodies side by side was a joyful novelty, so much so that it was almost exciting when Prince Franz asked to be her partner after two dances.

Almost.

There was some trepidation when he approached, he held Waltraud's gaze a little too long after he had asked, but Fozhan decided to accept him. Small sacrifices often had to be made for diplomacy, and King Ludwig was watching all closely from his throne, rather like the one eyed god that headed the Alemannian pantheon. He took her hands into his slender ones, nothing like his father in all his bulk, perhaps more like his mother with her more willowy kinfolk sitting at their table near that of the king. He shook his dark hair from his face and blinked at her with his usual stupid expression.

After a few seconds Waltraud stepped away from her place on the sideline and Fozhan's sight. She reappeared as the partner of Gilbert the Bear, the man was still shirtless. His hairy chest was enflamed around one shaven point above his left breast where the outline of a wolf leered. By his thorough intoxication he had enjoyed the ceremony that had anointed him as the newest lord of the kingdom earlier that evening. Perhaps even the same godi that had authenticated Fozhan and Waltraud's union had traced the animal upon Lord Gilbert.

The air was permeated by the phantom traces of the strange culture of the Alemannians, far more fascinating than the prattle of their crowned prince. Fozhan gathered them in her mind's eye and wondered how many of the heavily dressed nobility had azure lines craved into their bodies, a mural of all they had accomplished in life. Did even her beloved wear such bright marks? What tale did she carry upon her very skin?

"Hey," Fozhan interrupted Prince Franz's explanation of the dance as he led her down a line and into a tight circle of four other couples. "Does Lady Waltraud have any tattoos?"

"Huh?" he was startled, obviously not one who was used to being asked anything but what he already had an answer for. He blinked, obviously wondering why she had not asked what foot came after her right instead. Fozhan smiled indulgently, pretending as if she had actually been listening until the random, unpredicted thought had crossed her mind. When he finally processed what was being asked of him the prince frowned and glanced at where Waltraud was making more of an effort to keep her partner on his feet than anything else.

"Oh, no. She always refuses such a thing when offered." He shrugged. "She's very unusual, suspicious I suppose is the word."

"Oh, how so?" Fozhan lightly asked. She glanced at Waltraud again, now being dragged about by her bulky companion in a way Fozhan never thought the reserved woman allow. Fozhan realized however by her indulgent smile and gentle hands that this was someone Waltraud was comfortable with; a friend surely for there was no tenderness in her gaze as much as exasperated amusement. A boisterous and uncouth warrior; that was someone Waltraud would hold in her confidence? Yet Fozhan recalled that Gilbert the Bear was also from that southern land and had hunted a beast alongside Waltraud.

Fozhan felt uncomfortable wincing in her chest, had she truly assigned Waltraud such a shallow existence? Had she really never contemplated before the depth of a life spent in blood? For though she had never known battle she knew the intricate twining of the noble class was based upon the spoils of war. Her grandfather had carved his empire from the ruins of civil war. The other families of the regime were the descendants of those that had pledged their loyalty and blood to him. Her father esteemed his generals and had ridden at the head of his armies before.

Waltraud had been raised in such a world. While Fozhan had spent nearly all of her life in the comfortable expanses of the harem, surrounded by women and their complex world, Waltraud had lived in the chaotic expanses of a civil war and the unyielding world of conflict. Had Fozhan not even known she had been a war orphan? From the time she had been a young child Waltraud had been fighting, to appease Lady Röselein, to survive, and in loyalty to her allies, such as Gilbert the Bear. Though she was reticent she would have always needed people to be devoted to, and be devoted to.

Waltraud had never been alone; she could have never survived if she had been. Within her was that ability to form complex relationships of give and take. In short she already had capability to make people love her.

And Fozhan had seen it from the moment they had first met; her heralding beacon of destiny. Yes that had been it all along. She had always known Waltraud must have that talent of charisma that she could bring a man as forceful as Gilbert the Bear to heel. She had only been surprised to see that forte worked with such subtle grace. Waltraud who could kill you with her look of hatred could coax you eat from her hand with her gentle warmth.

"Let me speak to you, my lady," Franz clumsily interrupted her ecstasy of contemplation, but Fozhan nodded. Waltraud was still preoccupied by her friend who was vomiting ingloriously in a corner. Waltraud stroked his shoulder as Ernst stood with a water pitcher in hand, apparently used to such a scene by his bored expression. Gilbert the Bear after all was far from alone in painting the floor with the dull colors of his meal. Westerners apparently didn't place too much value in moderation in their drunken merriment.

Franz led her to a secluded corner, though Fozhan knew Lady Röselein was surely watching through whatever allies dotted the great expanse of the feast and the king still reigned from above. Prince Franz still look surreptitiously about, missing Roozbeh's presence entirely at a nearby table, even with his slender shoulders encased in the hold of a very buxom and very drunk blonde woman. The young man, perhaps only a year younger than Fozhan but with all the look of an earnest child who was about to reveal a great secret by his pouting lip, looked back at her.

"I don't hold any personal dislike for you, Princess Khadija. I can understand if you simply found me unsuitable." he began and Fozhan couldn't help but to feel some surprise at such bald candor. Most men would have taken a woman's rejection as an insult to his pride and Fozhan couldn't help to feel, perhaps ungenerously, that the reason why Prince Franz had not taken offense was not because he was actually a worldly individual who knew better than conventional social customs. His good will was an unfortunate symptom of the plain fact he had no pride at all.

"Nevertheless, I think you should know something about Lady Waltraud." His eyes narrowed. "Some think she is the true Beast of Ländle."

Fozhan spared him only an incredulous look and suppressed her urge to laugh in his face.

"Really?" she prodded coolly and Franz shook his head at her.

"Do not think me superstitious! I know you don't believe in our gods but in our land they hold power and I must believe that sometimes true monsters are allowed to walk this earth." He swallowed and lowered his voice. "There are stories of those who wear a second skin of fur beneath their human one. They shed their human skin as suits them and become a beast as they wish. My brother used to write me about Lady Waltraud's peculiar behavior. She never allowed anyone but Lady Röselein to tend her wounds. She never allowed herself to be tattooed or pierced for any reason."

His voice hit a hysterical note as he described the horror within. "It is because she can shed her human skin! She isn't really human at all, but a great wolf!"

Fozhan decided that she'd had enough at his dramatics. Pagan nonsense! And this fool had expected her to believe him!

"Prince Franz, please excuse me." She began to step away but was caught by his pleading hand.

"You don't believe me…but I can only expect you wouldn't." He sighed. "If you won't believe me that she is a shapeshifter, can you dismiss what happened to my older brother? She killed him, I am sure of it! He was Lady Röselein's husband and his throat was torn out in his own bed."

Fozhan paused. She had heard the horrid story before and had immediately linked the Beast of Ländle to the murder. She had never before contemplated that Waltraud had been the killer. Her golden eyes that were so like a wolf's, her oversized canines, could she have really crushed a man's throat with her jaws? No, it would have been impossible for a human being to commit that sort of mutilation.

Yet perhaps the tale had been warped by the fearful and perhaps what Prince Lars had really suffered was a slit throat or a brutal garroting.

"Why would she have killed your brother?" Fozhan asked lowly, letting the seed of suspicion grow in painful blooms in her heart.

"Because Lady Röselein wished it," Franz scoffed. "Is that not reason enough?"

And Fozhan knew even a fool would know this. She jerked her arm away from him but did not flee from him.

"If Lady Röselein wishes it, she'll kill you too." Franz was the one to step away first in the end. "Take my advice and leave this country. I would not like to see you die like my brother did, in his bridal bed."

The prince turned away and Fozhan was left to stand in an apoplexy. The noise of the crowd became a distant din as death crawled over her. For the first time she realized Waltraud may mean to kill her. The truth was a terrible thing, and she must never turn away from it, this had been her very first lesson as the heir to the Parsi empire.

She knew Waltraud was capable of such cruelty; war was not the endeavor of the brave and noble but of the ambitious and unsympathetic. Waltraud fought Lady Röselein's war, not her own. And what use did Lady Röselein have for her ward to be taken from her? Fozhan raised her hands to her mouth in terror; she had never before had to ask for her life from anyone. How could she ask another what the worth of her existence was?

She lowered her hands and looked towards Waltraud, standing with Gilbert the Bear likely at her feet. Ernst was gone leaving the woman alone to contemplate the flow of life around her. They called her "Beast", perhaps after the wolf this land feared, who would eat the very sun at the end of the world. Yet in the tumult of merriment, of a perceived triumph over the deathly wolf that still rotted in the courtyard, she seemed a creature of the light, not of the darkness that would consume the entire world. After all, she could have only survived such a strained existence upon complex threads of loyalty, devotion and love. These wove the light, not the darkness.

Waltraud caught her eye and smiled at her, showing her the fangs that may have once been painted by a prince's blood.

Fozhan walked to her. If her life must be given meaning to be saved, she would give significance to Waltraud's life beyond that of bloodshed. She would show the Beast her existence was not of darkness alone, for she possessed already all that she needed to walk in the light. There she stood in the midst of a celebration given for her looking after a drunk for no reason other than a genuine devotion to the concept of loyalty. War bred despair but it also bred true bonds of trust. It was only through great fortitude that one lived at all in the face of all human suffering, one so great it surely surpassed the hold of any darkness.

Fozhan would save herself, but in doing so she would also save Waltraud.

4: Four

In light of her revelation Fozhan found herself often questioning Waltraud's heart.

Two days after the amenity of the betrothal feast Fozhan found her summons to her chamber ignored by her bride. Her handmaiden assured her the message had arrived and when she sent Roozbeh for a potential explanation the chamber was found to be empty. The following investigation revealed no trace of her potential spouse. She was not in the stables, meeting hall, nor within Lady Röselein's chambers. None had seen her leave.

The daughter of the Shah turned the invitation over in her hands; it was a simple request to spend an afternoon with her, without even the mention of the aspiration to begin endowing Waltraud with the knowledge of those who would be her people. As Fozhan had studied the esoteric culture of the Alemannians Waltraud must acquaint herself with the abstruse one of the Parsi. At the very least her father may be more accepting of someone who had pledged not just their loyalty but their heart as well to the empire.

Waltraud could not be found. She had apparently coalesced into the frigid walls of the castle itself, not even her attentive page's footsteps had been heard, following his mistress in her unseen travail. Fozhan dared not approach Lady Röselein in her search, for if the Beast was prowling it was at her mistress' orders. Fozhan turned away from the worried expressions of her attendants and towards the window that offered a view of the courtyard.

Her brow furrowed as she contemplated if Waltraud had some lingering animosity for her and was staying out of reach because she had found the burden of affection too great to bear. Or was indeed on an errand for her mistress and would return drenched in blood. Fozhan's hand curled beneath her chin, or had the assassin at last found his mark? Her fist knotted. Foolish wretch! Why had she not insisted that she be guarded by her own men?

As her heart stopped a shadow fell across the courtyard. The tortured organ began to beat again as Waltraud crossed her sight, stopping right where the great wolf of Ländle had lain. The woman knelt down, as if chasing after some faint memory or scent of death. She startled and looked up however as Fozhan began to beat her hands on the window and cry "Wait!"

She pushed away from the glass in a hurry, pulling up her veil in an afterthought and forgetting her shoes entirely. Roozbeh cried out and followed her charge. Fozhan ignored his footsteps behind her, continuing to carry her skirts around her knees to fly around corners, sail down stairs, and land at the feet of her beloved. She held her breath in fear what she had seen was the last gasp of the soul before it departs the earth; a phantom of all that might have been.

These things you do to me my love. She gave a gasp of relief when Waltraud came into sight as veritable flesh, for Fozhan laid a hand upon the wrist she had injured, knowing the wound was still there and none of this had been taken away. Waltraud blinked at her apparent upset but let the other woman catch her breath patiently even as she gave a wary survey of the yard.

"You, didn't answer, my summons." Fozhan at last gasped.

"Forgive my negligence, it was not intended." Waltraud put a hand on her shoulder and Fozhan swallowed, knowing such a freely given touch could not have been improvised. It left as quickly as it came, a true gesture of comfort for Waltraud was clearly distracted. She raised her head toward the window Fozhan had appeared in.

"Is one of your ladies missing?" she asked as she narrowed her eyes, as if she could hope to see the handmaidens through that distant window.

"Oh…no," Fozhan followed her line of sight at the unexpected question. She glanced at Roozbeh but he shrugged, he had also seen nothing awry.

"I was hoping…" Waltraud lowered her head. "Never mind."

She looked down at Fozhan. "I will come to you tonight, I promise."

"Wait," Fozhan cried again, she reached to grasp Waltraud's arm to prevent her from escaping again. "What is wrong?"

"It is a personal matter." Waltraud shrugged and pulled her arm away but Fozhan would not allow her to retreat.

"It is hardly personal if you asked after one of my attendants!" She snapped. Waltraud glanced back at her and she glowered. She couldn't hope to get into Waltraud's face even upon her tiptoes but she raised her finger to point directly at Waltraud's chin. The other woman leaned back, nicely giving Fozhan all of her focus and attention.

"What is going on? Are my people in danger?" Waltraud hesitated, giving the question the weight it deserved. She lowered her head.

"I don't know." She at last admitted. She closed her eyes in a wince. "Ernst is missing. I haven't seen him since last night. He was not there for his morning duties, he would never…"

She looked back up towards the window. "Ernst is very loyal, he has never failed me. I was hoping however perhaps he'd had something of a rendezvous with that lady of yours he fancied. If that's not it then…"

She looked away, towards something Fozhan couldn't see. "I don't know where he is, and what may have happened to him."

Fozhan stepped back at the frustrated look in Waltraud's eyes. Ernst was devoted to Waltraud but Waltraud was also devoted to Ernst. Perhaps she even loved the boy in the way one does a foster child. Her anger at the thought someone had taken him from her spoke of true affection, and this vulnerability was unguarded, genuine. It was what Fozhan had seen in her eyes with Gilbert, it spoke when words were unnecessary. What was Waltraud's was hers, not to be taken away.

Here was a guardian who would protect what was precious to her at all costs.

Fozhan reached for Waltraud's shoulder but as her hand began that arduous flight another voice interrupted.

"Please excuse me for interrupting a lover's interlude," A woman walked into the courtyard. Fozhan slowlyy recognized her as the one who had been especially interested in Waltraud at the feast. She was taller than Fozhan but had none of Waltraud's towering height and build. She was more like the people from the steppes than the Alemannians Fozhan had seen so far with her long and flat nose and tilted eyes. Her dark hair was dressed in the elaborate weaving of braids that the Alemannian noblewomen enjoyed. Fozhan realized that the reason why Prince Franz looked so unlike his father with his dark hair and fine eyes was because the Northern Kingdom had such ancestry in their royal family.

As she came closer and smiled Fozhan realized she had oversized canines like Waltraud, though they were more hidden beneath full lips when she was not showing them. Unlike Waltraud this woman had the advantage of the angles and planes of her face being more symmetrical; she was strangely beautiful with her leering fangs. She carried herself like a grand lady in a vivid red dress embroidered in gold with full sleeves and her girdle casting waves of the heavy wool around her legs. She walked with petite steps, yet her person carried a looming presence, as if something much larger lived within her. Her eyes remained upon Waltraud, as if she was trying to pinpoint the origin of her heartbeat by sight alone.

When she reached the pair she gave a respectful bow. She lifted a hand, offering it to Waltraud.

"I am Lady Dagmar Ymirsdaughter, of Oland."

Waltraud at last took her hand after an interlude that almost seemed to stretch into eternity. Her eyes had been clouded by some internal struggle. Fozhan watched as she swallowed as she seemed to choke something back. She ghosted her lips over the back of that delicate hand, never quite touching the flesh below.

"My lady. I don't think we've met before," Waltraud murmured and Fozhan could scarcely believe such a thing after that struggle of recognition. Waltraud kept her gaze downwards, never meeting the dark eyes of the Olander.

"I am cousin of the former queen, and kinswoman of our dear King Ludwig and princes." The lady introduced herself. "We have met before, Lady Waltraud."

"Then, it was very long ago." Dagmar looked pleased at this assertion and at last stepped away from Waltraud.

"And if you are looking for your page, try the throne room." The woman bowed lowly as if she had just done them both a great favor. Waltraud didn't even wait for the lady to fade back into the shadows before she began her heedless charge towards the direction she had been pointed. Fozhan called after her, trying to remind her of reason and discretion. Who knew who this Olander was and what harm she meant! Fozhan was certain she had seen the face of a devil in that coquettish expression!

Her voice was lost however and all she could give her love was the sound of her footfall, forever following after, wherever she led.

5: Five

"Roozbeh, give me your sword." Fozhan ordered as they reached the last turn before the final dive. The manservant hesitated but relinquished the weapon. He after all still had his dagger, and his mistress must not stand unarmed, especially as her bride was bursting in without even a blade drawn.

"Ernst!" Waltraud cried and as Fozhan came up behind she also saw the boy. He was on the floor in a kneeling position, head down, before the throne. At the sound of his mistress' voice however he leapt up and stumbled over towards her. The sleeves of his tunic and the bottom of his pants were in shreds, livid bruises blazed across his wrists and ankles, and seeping wounds had clotted the tatters in blood. Fozhan raised his eyes up at the disinterested king upon the throne. He made no move to stop the weeping page's lunge at his adopted niece; he watched the outpouring of raw emotion with passivity.

He had already decided what was to come; Fozhan kept her blade drawn as Waltraud allowed Ernst to fall against her, but she didn't dare to take him into her arms.

"My lady! Whatever they say is a lie! I would never, never-! I only said it because I couldn't take it anymore! I was so weak, forgive me! Forgive me!" His words were a hysterical babble as he rocked against the breast of the only one who could save him. Waltraud glanced at the assembled nobles first and then slowly raised her eyes up towards the king. She assumed the same cold demeanor; that icy lack of concern with human life even as it smoldered.

"What is he charged with?" She asked lowly. Lady Röselein stepped into the room; Waltraud's eyes fell upon her as soon as her footfall was heard. Prince Jakob was in her arms, likely filched from the nursery on the way over. She paused behind Waltraud, a few feet back, on the very edge of the conflict yet looming large in its progression. The king however refused to acknowledge her.

"Treason. He confessed to hiring those assassins and plotting your demise." The king answered smoothly, keeping his gaze locked on Waltraud's.

"My lady I would never!" Ernst gasped but shut his mouth when Waltraud glowered at him.

"And what reason would he have?" she asked.

"You helped in destroying his family." The king reminded her. Waltraud's eyes flickered but she then looked away. She turned away from Ernst and the boy gave a small hysterical scream.

"I only said it because they made me! I couldn't take it anymore! What they did-!" He gasped as tears flowed down his face. Fozhan looked on steadily, forcing herself to look at what her betrothed couldn't stand to.

"Well, then, what reason do I have to not trust my king?" There was only defeat in her face and her shoulders slumped. She shut her eyes. "We can only do what we must to traitors."

"I am not a traitor!" Ernst cried but at last the guards came to drag him away from Waltraud. He screamed, he fought, and he was quickly silenced by a vicious punch to the gut. Waltraud still didn't raise her head or turn towards him. She only stared at the floor.

"Then, you will take him to the Donar-stone, and slay him." At the king's decision Waltraud at last raised her head.

"By my blood I will not! I will not be made a kinslayer for even you, my king!" She cried in a fury. Fozhan stepped back at such a sudden burst of emotion. She glanced at Röselein but the woman remained still, her expression was carefully devoid of feeling even as her child struggled uncomfortably in her arms.

"Kinslayer?" The king chuckled even as he gripped the arm rests of his chair in some disquiet. "That boy is a slave. The gods will care not if you kill him."

"No, he is my kin. I have made him my blood by my loyalty and love for him, even if there was no formal ceremony. I will not have the sin upon me of slaying someone whom I never should!" Waltraud countered angrily. She saw King Ludwig's scowl and stepped back. Some of the gathered crowd gasped and a few snickered at such a ludicrous statement. A slave the kinsman of a noble! By their expressions it was what the vicious enclave expected from this maverick that Lady Röselein had taken into their ranks. They hissed in disgust. Fozhan swallowed, very aware Waltraud was in a very vulnerable position even with her mistress behind her. Waltraud exhaled and attempted another form of attack.

"I will not kill him. And by my right as part of your family, don't make the execution public. But let anyone slay him, so long as it is not I, so long as I do not have to see."

"My lady, you are not in a position to ask-" The king began but at last Lady Röselein was allowed the opportunity to strike.

"My lord, she most certainly is! As your kinswoman she is allowed to ask such a favor for her son and she has never asked you for a thing." Lady Röselein stepped forward with her son bouncing at her hip. She raised her chin. "Don't let others think you don't honor your bonds."

King Ludwig's nostrils flared in anger but he was as aware as Lady Röselein they were before every man and woman of note in the empire. He sat back, fully aware the knife he had tried to use to separate mother and daughter had just been driven into his gut.

"Very well. I will indulge Lady Waltraud's request, though she must know this is her one great gift." Neither woman responded. Ernst only continued to softly weep at the foot of the guards. He pointed at the disgraced page.

"Lock him up. He'll be slew upon the stone in the morning by a worthy man."

"My lady!" Ernst again tried to find his lady's side. She turned away again, and fully turned her back towards him. "My lady! Waltraud!"

His scream echoed across the hall, shaking the very vaults of the ceiling. Waltraud still kept her back to him, as if his emotional tumult was nothing more than gentle rain against her back. He was dragged away sobbing and Waltraud only continued to look at Lady Röselein. The older woman watched the boy be sacrificed to indifference and she turned to walk away when the last echoes of his cries had faded away. Waltraud continued to look forward with no emotion, standing rigid with locked knees. She stood until all others had left, save for the one who had never sheathed her sword.

6: Six

Fozhan raised her hand as she stepped towards Waltraud. Waltraud suddenly covered her face however and gave a choked laugh.

                “Even then he didn’t-!” she sighed and dropped her hands. She grinned manically for a few seconds and Fozhan wondered if the sudden stress had not coaxed some burst of insanity.

                “Lady Waltraud?” Fozhan called her back to reality. The other woman exhaled and turned towards Fozhan with a grin that was now sardonic.

                “Don’t let any of this upset you, my lady.” Her eyes hardened. “This is all a personal matter.”

                Fozhan shook her head. “You troubles are mine now.”

                “We are not yet wed.” Waltraud argued.

                “A betrothal is nearly the same thing,” Fozhan narrowed her eyes, “save for one thing, and it is ultimately a paltry matter.”

                Waltraud scoffed at her licentiousness and shook her head.

                “You are more of a fool than I thought.” Waltraud tilted her head to give her a wary side-glance. “You could still marry Prince Franz or someone else, you know, if something happens to me.”

                “Never. Never.” Fozhan cried vehemently. “I’ll never marry anyone else!”

                Waltraud continued to look at her out of one golden eye for a few seconds but at last turned on her heel. “All the same, it is a personal matter.”

                “Wait.” Fozhan said. Waltraud ignored her. “Wait!”

                As the other woman moved away Fozhan clenched her fists, wildly desperate to get her to stay and speak with her. Waltraud could walk away from her whenever she liked and Fozhan hated this. She would not have it!

                “I order you to stop!” She yelled at last in pathetic agony. It worked, Waltraud stopped at opening the door, just as she was about to be reabsorbed into the shadows of the castle.

                “You order me to stop?” The golden eye narrowed as the rest of her face was concealed by the open door. It shut to reveal an expression of amusement. Waltraud laid a hand on her chest. “Do you think I am one of your handmaidens that will come running when you snap a finger?”

                “No, I think you are an arrogant fool taking on something that is far too great for you alone.” Waltraud bristled at the remark.

                “You have no idea--!“ She quickly dodged the dagger that had been thrown to embed itself in Waltraud’s shoulder, to hopefully pin her to the door. As if Fozhan had ever really thought Waltraud would listen to her by the force of her words alone.

                “Damn.” Fozhan sighed; if her shoulder had not been lanced she may have been able to hit her target. As it was Waltraud merely tore the dagger out of the door and lightly tossed it to Roozbeh. She shielded herself behind the door when he caught it. Waltraud narrowed her eyes at the grimacing princess.

                “All the same, my lady, don’t worry about me who will not come when she is called by you. Worry about yourself, in a foreign land surrounded by those who envy your country’s wealth and stature.” The door was shut softly, mockingly. Fozhan tore at her shirt in outrage.

                “She is such an idiot! Why is it so hard for her to accept any help?!” Fozhan gasped.

                “My lady I seek permission to remind you that you have chosen this husband.” Roozbeh said. “You may well indeed take her actions into your consideration that she is worthy of the title.”

                “She doesn’t trust me, how could she?” Fozhan was ready to jump to Waltraud’s defense. She narrowed her eyes. “This was surely something of a coup. The king is challenging Lady Röselein through Waltraud. I am sure of it.”

                “My lady,” Roozbeh hissed in Parsi. Fozhan nodded, well aware the palace was full of spies. She held out her hand and allowed Roozbeh to escort her back to her room. They walked in silence down the winding corridors, leaving an almost tangible void behind them as many snickered as the Shah’s daughter walked by.

                “Engaged to that disgraceful pet of Lady Röselein’s!” She heard one woman chortle behind her veil.

                “I wonder if her father knows what she’s done,” the man besides her scoffed.

                “Both of their heads should be on the chopping block,” An old man hissed from a corner. Fozhan ignored them all and held her head high. Her jaw clenched, let them say whatever they so wished. She was the heir of the great and powerful Imitiyazid dynasty; and she would survive this dreadful place. She would forever be a bright and mighty bloom amongst these wretched weeds with bent spines and twisted hearts. And she would shelter Waltraud in her leaves.

                “She won’t allow him to be executed.” Fozhan continued when they reached the room. She stood still and allowed her maidens to wash her feet and hands. “’Even then, he didn’t’, he didn’t allow something to be given away; he’s still loyal.”

                “Even if he is, that doesn’t mean she won’t allow him to take the fall for her.” Roozbeh countered. “That boy is a servant; it is his place to anyway.”

                “No, he is her son.” Fozhan countered.

                “A lie so she would not have to watch him be executed,” Roozbeh snorted.

                “Because she loves him! That’s why she can’t stand to watch him be killed! Why else would she allow herself to be so degraded in the eyes of her peers by claiming a slave as blood?!” Fozhan snapped and Roozbeh glowered at her. She held his gaze for a long time, knowing he had heard those whispers as well. Roozbeh however had no grand ambitions to bloom and would prefer to remain close to the ground in this snarl of thorns.

                She dismissed her shocked women with a hand wave. She had never quarreled with Roozbeh in all of her life, but she had also never done anything he had considered ill advised. She exhaled and regained her countenance before continuing. She must never lose her temper for too long, and must never allow emotion alone to guide her.

                “Or, she claimed him in order to save him,” Fozhan mused. “If she doesn’t have to be at the execution she can disguise herself and attack.”

                “And if she does, the king means to catch her and execute her as well,” Roozbeh frowned.

                “Yes, and that’s why she was warning me. They mean to kill her and force me to marry the prince.” Fozhan sat down in a small shock of awe. Her fist knotted, why had she ever thought this would be so simple? Of course Ludwig would not stand the insult of his son being rejected and allow such an honor to pass onto a misaligned branch of his family. Had she really been so enchanted by Waltraud she had not even seen what the other woman had surely seen coming?

                “My lady, it is best if we leave Alemannia right now.” Roozbeh stepped up to put a hand on her shoulder. Fozhan shook her head.

                “I can’t leave Waltraud.” Not even when she had chosen another over her.

                “If she saves that boy she has thrown away her life.” Roozbeh tightened his grip. “And I think she knows it.”

                Fozhan smiled slowly. “Well then, we’ll just have to save her, now, won’t we?”

                Roozbeh sighed and said the expected words. “My lady I must advise this is not a wise course of action.”

                And Fozhan answered in kind. “And while I respect your wisdom, I must follow my own inclinations.”

                Roozbeh sat next to her and with their voices hushed they discussed how to counter a coup in a foreign court, and most of all how Fozhan would at last win the trust of the aloof Lady Waltraud. For she would have that place in Waltraud’s sun, if only she could show her she was worthy of such a light. And if they died together, it had been Allah’s will all along.

                She and Roozbeh both wondered what secret it was that Ernst had protected even within the depths of torture, but neither one of them could imagine it. They only knew whatever it was; it had proven Ernst worthy of Waltraud’s undying devotion. If only Fozhan had that knowledge, if only she could see whatever glimpse it was of Waltraud’s soul that only those nearest to her knew.

                She was certain then if only she knew that secret, of only she could see Waltraud’s true form, she would be happy forever. 

7: Seven

A/N: Unfortunately I need to announce a hiatus until possibly all the way to the end of February. While I'll still be working on Grimhild, it'll only be about an hour a week. I may or may not update in that time but it will no longer be on a weekly basis. I can at least promise that the next chapter(s) will be focused on Fozhan and Waltraud's wedding, something I am certain will be worth waiting for.

 

It was at dinner that she was foiled.

As usual she had her lady's taciturn approval to do whatever she saw as necessary.

"So long as it doesn't endanger our cause, my dear, you can save your page." Lady Röselein had sighed into her son's hair, petting the boy in the perfumed bower of her room. She would keep him by her side so long as the danger remained. Her blue eyes were as hard as the ice that had seeped into every crevice of the walls, cast by the snow of the night before. Waltraud had kissed her hand in gratitude. In freedom she had devised her battle plan and rallied her allies.

Only to have all of her intentions thwarted by that one subversive element she had found herself bound to.

The instigator had smiled at her as she had taken her place besides her at the evening meal, as she had every night since the announcement of their engagement, that place of honor she loathed. Between the light of her beaming bride and the king's look of triumph she withered. Somewhere below this scaffold Ernst lay in darkness, crying out for her still. That echo recoiled in every corner of the castle and chased her down every path.

The princess laid a hand on hers and Waltraud shrank from her warmth.

"I can see and understand you are quite distressed my lady." She said as if they were alone, but loud enough for all to hear. Aware all were watching her, and could see her even at a great distance, Waltraud kept her face down; upon the meal she had barely touched. She didn't answer beyond a tensing at the corners of her mouth.

"You must come hunting with me tomorrow morning, and get your mind off such matters." Her hand closed around Waltraud's. The Beast didn't even acknowledge the pressure. To ask for such a thing in a public place where all would hear-! Her eyes glanced at the king, well occupied with his youngest son, but hearing every word. Waltraud didn't dare to look at Lady Röselein only a few seats away. She kept her eyes lowered, not letting her surprise show too much on her face. She quelled the urge to tear the little bitch's throat out.

Traitor! Though the word implied she had ever been able to trust the woman by her side. This harridan who claimed to love her, this wretch who had almost made her believe it! She swallowed to keep her fangs hidden. She had been foolish and now paid the price.

She had intended to stay sequestered in her room until the time of action. It had been easy enough to bribe the men who had paid to watch her for the king, it would have been effortless to slip into the early dawn and lay in wait for the march to the Donar-stone. Of course the Parsi would be in league with the king, the man who had sanctified their iniquitous union. Had she been paid? Or was it enough that in the end she received her prize?

If she offered too much resistance the king would find reason to imprison her as well. She had been asked before all so that words of treason could be pulled from her throat. Even if true grief had isolated her she would have been damned all the same. Had one of the bribed men spoke then? Or had the king known all along what the plan would be?

She had thought he intended to kill her, and she had planned to overcome all his resistance in the way only she could; by brute force alone. The king still had no idea what she was truly capable of, she was certain of it. He would have never challenged Lady Röselein like this if he had. He had no one among his ranks that could truly confront the Beast. And King Ludwig did not reign because he had assailed impossible challenges.

Now she saw however she had underestimated the old warrior. Even if he didn't know what she truly was, he had sensed to not confront the Beast directly, but had instead tried to flow around her strength, and by using someone she was obligated to be intimate with. It should be expected of someone who had not taken his throne in battle but by subtle political maneuvering. Damn the entire House of Anselmssohn!

I will kill you, and every one of your male kin, you old bastard. She promised the king fervently. And if the coward would not confront her in battle, she would hunt them all down like sheep in the field; inglorious deaths, worthy for those of this doomed house. They would never collected by the divine battle maidens and would only know the embrace of the dread goddess.

Waltraud knew she had just been out-maneuvered but she would not give in to panic and fear. She must save Ernst, her sworn-kin, but she must not also endanger Lady Röselein's intentions. Her eyes fell not upon her mistress but dark eyes that had chased after her ever since this net had been cast. The woman who had called herself Dagmar smirked at her from her seat among the family of the former queen, and Waltraud became all the more certain of the noose tightening around neck, and that it was held most tightly by the woman besides her.

"Thank you for your concern. I would be…most happy, to join you, my lady." Waltraud turned her hand upwards and returned that gentle hold. The princess smiled up at her and Waltraud felt a frustrated tightening in her chest. While she knew the woman had bathed her hands and feet in rose oil, that the woman who dyed her hair with henna had dressed her, that Roozbeh had recently placed his hand on her left shoulder, that there were traces of almond paste lingering around her lips hidden by her veil, and that she remembered the salty-sweet taste of her skin, she had no conception of what was lying behind the princess' loving expression. Waltraud wished she could rip her open then and there and devour all of her secrets and fears.

She looked away to passively seethe in her blood lust. Her eyes fell upon Gilbert the Bear, and she knew then even if she unable, her sworn-brother would carry out their plan without her. The thought made her throat clench in guilt, but she knew she could trust him to carry upon his broad shoulders what she could not, as he trusted her to use her fangs where he could not. Her jaw tightened, she could not allow such a thing! She would find a way out of this trap sprung upon her. She was a Beast, and one of opportunity. Like any wolf she seized her chances and didn't wait for them to come to her.

She excused herself from dancing, at least able to indulge her distaste in the form of mourning. The princess chased after her for a short distance but at last gave up her pursuit, perhaps sensing the death that lay at the end of it. Waltraud would correct her mistake, if not tomorrow, then another day.

"My lady! Waltraud!" His voice chased after her and kept her from the embrace of sleep. A wolf does not thrive alone; it is only with her pack that she knows true strength. Waltraud had no true blood-kin; she only had those who would give their blood for her. This was the only source of her love, and never given lightly. Only through shed blood did she know devotion. The blood the princess had shed on that day however had only been splatter, not the shinning life force of ardor.

She would not allow any of her own to be taken from her. She would allow none of them to fall for her. By this alone she lived!

The dawn broke in a violent palate of reds and oranges, drenching the world in a terrible light. Waltraud had wished this day would never have come. As the All-Father feared the split in the night that would bring on the Twilight of the Gods, so had she waited in terror for this reckoning. She had chosen to take Ernst as her page in caprice, but she would save him in the full return for the service he had given her. She would have never seen him used against her; though she had always known even blood can be drowned in.

Never, never would she take another by her side; when these companions left her she would have no more. Gilbert, Ernst, Lady Röselein, these were the few who had come to love the Beast and given her the solidarity she needed to thrive. It was that devotion however that had lead to this disaster, and perhaps had forfeited everything.

She walked down to the courtyard with conviction she would not let the world end here. As the survivors of that last twilight would cling to the branches of the World Tree, she would wrap her arms around the unyielding trunk of Lady Röselein. She must still give life to the wish of the one who held her heart, the source of all her blood, in her hands.

She met her tormentor with her head held high and the Parsi woman bowed down before her.

"I am most grateful you came to meet me, I know this is not an easy day for you." The princess said quietly, between them alone. She let her gesture speak however to the spectators who had come to see if the Beast would prove her innocence or guilt. The princess stepped forward and gently traced her fingers down Waltraud's cheek. Waltraud inhaled that scent of roses and suppressed a snarl.

"Only your kindness could soothe my sorrow." Waltraud smiled and took the horse offered to her. She found herself looking towards the north however, towards the gate Ernst had already exited through on his final journey to the distant oak grove where the Donar-stone laid. They were making him walk to his execution, so that the peasantry could jeer at him, tormenting the criminal to alleviate some of their misery. Their cheers flooded the yard from the still open gate, something not even a co-conspirator could ignore. The princess looked away first while Waltraud took a few more seconds to absorb that terrible noise.

"I have a gift, as well." The princess remained on the ground to offer up a red scarf. Waltraud nodded and knew she could only accept it. She tied it over the lower half of her face.

"Let's go." She grunted to their party, the expected Roozbeh and four of the princess' ladies. They exited through the south gate and soon even the sadistic cacophony sounding from the north left Waltraud's ears.

She contemplated murdering the princess quite ardently. She felt certain she could not only rip the woman's throat out, but also the man's, and then chase down the women before they returned to the castle. Doing so however would force her to flee Berlin and return to the south, leaving Lady Röselein alone and abandoning the plan to murder the king at the wedding. The king however would be in attendance at the execution.

Waltraud had not dared to appear at the entrance of the prisoner into the courtyard at the beginning of his death walk, but she had smelled the king's trail following that of Ernst's when she had walked down to that dirt later. The king had kept silent about his intentions of attending the execution of the traitor, well aware of how politically charged the event was. He may have even followed in disguise. Waltraud however had found the trail he could not hide.

She could annihilate her bride and the false king in one attack. After she had killed the Parsi party she would join her allies waiting in the grove and do what Lady Röselein had always intended. It would not be the first time she had taken her own initiative with Lady Röselein's plans. The murder of Prince Lars had been inevitable, but not planned. So long as she fulfilled that wish, all was justified.

She decided today would be the day to correct all her mistakes and fulfill her destiny of placing Lady Röselein upon the throne. She began to form her plan of leading the princess into a thicket she knew was not far away as they exited the limits of the city. As she spoke up to voice her intent of letting their horses drink at a stream just beyond that thicket however a stag appeared. Waltraud stopped her horse, amazed at the lack of fear in the creature. He was a magnificent animal of great antlers, but had surely not lived this long by approaching mounted riders.

Roozbeh aimed his arrow, apparently doing the hunting for his mistress. He was a very poor shot however in comparison to his lady. His arrow sailed over the stag's shoulder, missing the animal entirely. It startled the stag however to leap into the thicket. Waltraud's heart leapt into her heart as she followed the princess' dash to follow their prey. Roozbeh fired again and caught the stag in his left rear leg. The stag gave a guttural scream of pain and stumbled through the brush of the thicket. The princess kept at the head of the charge as the party leapt over the brush to follow the stag. Waltraud kept her position behind the princess, edging out Roozbeh during that last leap.

The princess dismounted to slit the suffering animal's throat and Waltraud prepared to leap onto her with her jaws open. The approach of another rider from the opposite end of the thicket stopped the attack however. Waltraud pulled up her mount as the princess silenced the stag's screaming. She turned towards Waltraud with bloodied hands and she knew the princess was smirking at her beneath that veil. The rider proved to be another one of her ladies, and Waltraud cursed herself for squandering her chance.

The princess' next words changed everything however.

"Lady Waltraud, please switch clothes with this young lady. She is to ride with me in your absence." The princess explained and Waltraud stared at her, not really believing what she was hearing.

"She's not nearly tall enough," The woman at last pointed out.

"She will be, mounted upon some pillows, and from a distance." The princess assured her as the lady dismounted.

"You are giving me an alibi," Waltraud at last fully realized. The princess nodded, and made an irritated hand motion that indicated this should have been obvious. After all, Waltraud realized, that had surely been no wild deer, but a tame one filched from the king's own pleasure garden.

"Yes. But I think we really need to hurry." The princess replied. Waltraud did as she was instructed; sparing herself no modesty as she quickly stripped and put on the Parsi clothing. It was strange to wear a skirt, especially one that barely reached her knees, and she avoided the veil entirely. The other woman struggled to put on Waltraud's clothes while another filled Waltraud's boots to give the decoy more of an appearance of height. The decoy took the scarf last, tying it over the lower half of her face, letting only her dark hair and eyes be seen. From a distance she may indeed look enough like Waltraud to give that necessary defense.

"You knew my plans." Waltraud said as she tied her girdle. "How?"

"Your ways are easy enough to know." The princess sighed and suspicion grew in Waltraud's heart. This could still be a trap, and she could not allow even the possibility of guile. She grabbed the princess' shoulder and before anyone else could move she laid a dagger against the princess' throat.

"You're going with me." She informed her in a low snarl. She raised her eyes to the stunned spectators. "And if any of you try to interfere- I'll kill her."

"You treacherous bitch!" Roozbeh hissed as his hands found his sword. Waltraud pressed the dagger closer to the princess' skin and the man stopped in horror.

"You idiot! Then we'll be riding with one less rider than we had!" He pointed out.

"I'll take the risk." Waltraud narrowed her eyes. "Take off your clothes princess, and switch with one of your ladies."

The women hesitated and at last the princess spoke.

"Lelah, you are the closest to me in height. Do what she says." The princess ordered. The woman named Lelah stepped forward and stripped down to her underclothes. With slow and controlled motions the princess did the same. Waltraud allowed the handmaiden to gather up the clothes and hand hers to her lady. With tears in her eyes the handmaiden redressed in her lady's clothes. Waltraud could not see the princess' expression but she was sure it was defiant as she carefully slipped on those of her servant.

"Everyone is to do what we planned, without me." The princess ordered as Waltraud moved her over towards the waiting horse.

"Even if you don't hurt her this day, I promise I will never forget this." Roozbeh hissed from his horse.

"I'll take that risk too." Of having a man with as fierce a devotion as her be her enemy. Waltraud mounted behind the princess and with no further words she forced her bride to be involved in her assassination plans, in lieu of violent murder. The woman said nothing as they galloped through the underbrush towards the event horizon in the north.

Waltraud was left to her thoughts; memories of the four of them huddled together in the harshest depth of winters, lost together in the great expanses of engulfing dark forests. The feel of Gilbert's broad back against hers in battle, the shinning of Lady Röselein's blade, and the feel of Ernst's arms around her waist as he wept in gratitude. The smell of the earth as it had been pulled up for her and Gilbert to walk under after the giving of their vow to be sworn-kin. The gentleness of Lady Röselein's hand as it stroked her hair.

And she recalled the smile of her hostage.

And it was all these that propelled her forward.

"What were you hoping to do by offering me an alibi?" She asked the princess as they flew through the last open field before the gaping maw of the sacred grove.

"Save you." The woman answered steadily even with the wind whipping through her veil.

Waltraud grunted and began to slow her horse after they had crashed through the tree line. When they had at last fully stopped she strained her ears to hear. She heard the distant footfall of a large party of men, and the wind shifted to enhance their scent of excitement. That was the death march, and along the outer rims of the glen of the grove her allies shivered in their own furious anticipation.

"Would you have me trust you?" Waltraud asked as she dismounted, keeping a hold of one of her prisoner's wrists.

"Yes," the princess answered readily as she freely followed Waltraud's descent from the horse, and safety.

"Then you shall follow me into this battle." Waltraud informed her as she tied the horse to a tree. The princess said nothing in return and remained silent as her intended pulled her into the very center of the grove.

"My lady." Gilbert breathed in relief as she met the group of five men hidden along a ridge that looked down into the glen. He blinked to see the princess in tow but at the same moment he also saw the tight hold the Beast had upon her.

"Spare us two more wolf skins." Waltraud said as she pushed the princess in front of her and then down. She leaned on the other woman's shoulders as the skins were pried from a bag.

"You are not to show yourself, you are not to remove the skin until allowed to do so." Waltraud hissed into the princess' ear. The other woman nodded and accepted the pelt.

"How many men do they have?" Waltraud asked as she kept one hand on the princess' shoulder and the other upon her wolf skin.

"Fifteen including the executioner and godi." Gilbert answered as he pulled his own skin over his head. His green eyes gleamed at her through the helm hidden within the open jaws of his pelt.

"One of their number is the king." Waltraud informed him. She pulled her own helm over her head. "Kill them all."

The princess inhaled sharply at the order but kept her silence as she pulled on the helm with its skin flowing over her body. Gilbert grinned at the order and appreciatively ran a finger down his drawn blade.

"For the House of Wulfstochter." He laughed.

"For the House of Wulfstochter," Waltraud echoed the cry of her own Lady Röselein. The four other men departed from the two pack leaders, crawling upon their hands and knees to assume their strategic points around the glade. The plan was to form a wide circle to cut off escape as Gilbert and Waltraud scattered the crowd by charging into the middle. Their weapons would not only be their blades but also the claws that lined the front paws of the skins, and for Waltraud her jaws as well.

The wearing of animal skins into battle had been illegal for years in Alemannia, perhaps with the authorities aware what may have appeared to be a shape-shifter had been instead an outlaw in a pelt. There would be no survivors, but there would be terror all the same upon seeing the facsimile wolves in the glen, the eternal enemy of man. Ludwig after all would be well aware of what the rebel tribes of the south still wore into battle.

Today the wolf's pelt however would disguise something even more terrifying than an outlaw tribesman.

The princess fell along side Waltraud in her gray pelt, her wolf's jaws still curled in one last snarl. She glanced at her betrothed through those bared teeth.

"Is this how you fought all those years?" she asked lowly.

"Oh no," Waltraud grinned through the baying jaws of her white wolf. "Not at all."

All fell silent as the execution party at last appeared in the glen. The godi lead the procession as he must, though all the men save Ernst were wearing hoods and thus Waltraud had trouble pinpointing which one was the king. She clenched her jaw and decided to pick the executioner as her first target, surely the man holding the ceremonial axe. She looked upon Ernst's bruised and bloodied countenance to add furor to her battle-rage. Her hands bit into the ground as she tensed her body for that first strike. She felt the princess take position next to her and Waltraud wondered if she truly meant to charge besides her into battle. Waltraud kept her eyes forward, because of the princess' presence she could not indulge the itch that was overtaking her skin, but she could indulge her blood-lust to its full fury.

She waited until Ernst was pushed towards the blood stained stone that stood in the middle of the clearing. The battle god was calling for his due, but destiny would turn upon sacrilege today. Donar may abandon them at this sullying of his scared altar, but the gods rewarded the mighty and righteous. With a snarl Waltraud launched herself from the ridge and down onto the glen below. She charged the men upon all fours. It was as she leapt that she caught the insidious scent.

A woman. A woman is in this crowd. She realized as she vaulted towards the sky. She could only land however with her jaws opened wide. The executioner fell back with teeth embedded in the soft flesh of his throat. He died with his axe uselessly clenched in his hands as his windpipe was crushed beneath Waltraud's fangs. A scream erupted across the air and Waltraud looked up with her mouth still full of warm blood. The princess stood ashen faced at the edge of the grove, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

Waltraud licked her jaws. Are you regretting what you attached yourself to, my lady? She thought with a sneer. The next second however she found herself in the air, sailing away from the man she had just felled. She hit the ground with a few staggering rolls and landed hard against the Donar-stone. As she struggled to breathe she looked up at what had just attacked her.

It was a great white wolf, far larger than any of the ones that prowled the forest and field. The scent of a human woman was gone, replaced by that of a powerful bitch. Waltraud sat up in complete shock as the wolf bared her jaws at her.

There is another, another! She struggled to stand. The wolf lunged again and Waltraud barely missed being crushed between those gaping teeth. As Waltraud crawled back Ernst appeared wielding the executioner's axe. With a scream he swung the weapon at the wolf's shoulder. The bitch fell back and bared her fangs at the intrepid young warrior. Ernst paused in his attack, his massive effort already brining him nearly to his knees. At this interlude the wolf glanced at the struggling Waltraud.

"Sister, why are you still wearing that skin?" It spoke, but did not speak. It was more of an impression formed in Waltraud's mind, one of emotion and visceral feeling. Waltraud at last found her feet and threw her arms around herself to contain the searing that laced across her skin. Never had she felt that itching in such a terrible and powerful way before! It was as if her very skin was to trying to fall away from her muscles and bones!

"Come and dance with me, Grimhild." The wolf narrowed her eyes. "I've come all this way, just for you."

"Grimhild?" Waltraud whispered. This wolf, she didn't know who she was! The animal tilted her head at the question.

"Have you forgotten?" And the bitch let out a long whine. "Impossible!"

Forgotten. Waltraud's eyes widened as something deep inside her screamed. She gasped and felt her knees begin to buckle as a crushing revelation came upon her.

"Waltraud!" The princess cried as she ran across the battlefield.

I am not alone. She swallowed and broke her gaze with that of the wolf. She looked around desperately for an outcropping of reality. Her eyes met those of the stunned king, standing just behind the wolf, his face pale beneath his hood.

"Grimhild! Why will you not reveal yourself to me?" The wolf demanded. Waltraud's eyes moved towards the approaching princess and the wolf followed her eyes. The monster almost seemed to smile with her long jaws. Rested and with his prey distracted Ernst chose that moment to save his mistress and her bride. His axe caught the beast in the shoulder. She screamed and turned upon him with snapping jaws. The princess joined in the battle however and pierced the wolf's side with her sword. Waltraud darted around the three to launch herself at the king's throat, at last recalling her true destiny.

"Grimhild!" the wolf shrieked as the Beast vaulted before the king. The man turned and took the blow upon his shoulder. After they landed against the hard earth Waltraud released his shoulder and aimed for his throat only to be denied again as her blow was misdirected by a hard hit to her temple by a sword hilt. As her head rang she became aware the wolf was charging towards them. Foiled she retreated from her intended kill. The wolf landed between them and allowed herself to be mounted by her wounded king. The wolf turned her head and met Waltraud's eyes again.

"I will see you again soon, my sister." The wolf promised. She ran into the forest, her torn side and shoulder leaving behind a pungent blood trail. Waltraud gasped and glanced back at the clearing.

All of the king's men had been killed and one of her own, the young earl from Ländle. Ernst was gasping at Gilbert's feet, but he had not been caught by the wolf's jaws. Waltraud removed her helm and skin and kneeled next to her page. With a tender hand she stroked the boy's sweat soaked hair back from his face.

"For the House of Wulfstochter," she told him gently.

He smiled and took her wrist in his hand. "For the House of Wulfstochter."

"You must return to Ländle," she told him. She looked up at her sworn-brother. "With Lord Gilbert."

He nodded and swallowed. "Will I ever see you again, my lady?"

"I hope so." She said softly and he dropped his hand from hers.

"If not…thank you for all you did for me. I will not forget it." Ernst said ardently.

"And I shall say the same." She beat her fist against her chest in the old gesture of solidarity. The men all mirrored her gesticulation in a series of enthusiastic thumps as she regained her feet. She avoided the gaze of the still silent woman, aware of how her jaws were painted in blood.

"I will follow the trail of the wolf." She announced as she turned her gaze towards the bright path of blood.

"Waltraud?" The princess at last asked and she turned from her. The smell of blood and wolf was heavy in her nostrils and she knew she must chase after those ephemeral traces. Her blood cried out as the memory of the wolf still burned brightly in her viscera.

"Do whatever you so please." Waltraud told the princess who was struggling to stand besides her. This woman she had now bound to her in blood.

"Waltraud!" The princess howled and her distressed echo shook the very branches of the trees as Waltraud allowed the forest to consume her. She may do whatever she so pleased; but she could not remain by her side, ever. The Beast had given the woman life and she would not rebuke it.

She tore away her skin and pierced the shadows of the forest as a wild beast, chasing after memories of a dream. For the wolf had smelled of nostalgia and felt like reminiscence. It was all the aching in her soul and the pain in her heart.

And in terror she chased after this lost self.

 

 

 

 

 

Fozhan found her upon the riverbank. She was nude, a welcome relief after finding her bloodstained clothes torn along the blood trail. Fozhan carefully approached the other woman from behind after dismounting from her horse. She remained behind Waltraud as she stood shamefully exposed to the sunlight. It was then she saw Waltraud's wrist was also naked, with no trace of wound or scar. She drew in her breath and let the bloodied clothes fall at her feet. She removed her veil to offer her bride something to cover herself with.

Waltraud took the piece of cloth with no words as she wrapped it around the middle of her body. At last able to look into her betrothed's face Fozhan took in her expression. It was a look of agony. The Shah's daughter dropped her gaze to her feet.

"What happened?" Fozhan asked.

"They took a boat down the river." Waltraud narrowed her eyes. "Back towards the castle."

Fozhan huffed because that did not answer her question. Nevertheless she had heard tale of Alemannian warriors stripping naked in battle, Waltraud may have given in to such an urge. She tried to ignore the whole wrist even as her wounded shoulder ached.

"Was that the real Beast of Ländle?" she asked lowly. A wolf trained to attack! It would surely make sense. Waltraud shook her head.

"No." Fozhan glanced up at her. The pain remained in Waltraud's expression but her smile was wistful over bitter or regretful. Fozhan recalled how Waltraud had almost seemed to be communicating with that wolf for a few seconds, but she quickly pushed away the thought. Waltraud had merely been as stunned as she to suddenly have a wolf thrust onto the battlefield. She had even screamed at first to see the creature bare its fangs. If the Beast of Ländle had been a wolf such as the one they had just seen; the terror of the animal was completely justifiable.

"What are you thinking about?" Fozhan's question finally shook Waltraud out of her revere.

"Our marriage," she answered as she stepped away from the bank.

"Do you think I am worthy of your confidence?" Fozhan asked and Waltraud looked back at her. Her smile was genuine yet brittle.

"Yes." She turned away again. Fozhan walked behind her a few steps as they walked back towards the horse that must be returned to her party. The animal almost seemed enchanted by how many times she had carried them to safety, though the journey to meet the rest of the Parsi party would be the most dangerous.

"I am sorry about Sir Ernst, and Lord Gilbert," Fozhan told her softly. Waltraud paused in her step but didn't turn back. Fozhan earnestly took a step forward.

"I know you loved them both. It must be very hard for you to lose them." Waltraud tensed her should but then dropped her head.

"Is that why you helped me?" she asked softly, pleadingly. "Because you knew the pain this caused me?"

"Of course." Fozhan sighed, recalling Waltraud's earlier desperate kidnapping. She could not blame the other woman's actions given the circumstances yet it exasperated her all the same. Her frustration melted away however as Waltraud turned back towards her with a truly grateful expression. The next second she was enveloped in her fair lady's arms and kissed, deeply, with no hesitation or regret. Fozhan felt her body slip away at the feel of Waltraud's lips and all that existed within her love's arms was burning ardor.

"Thank you." The other woman sighed as they parted and Fozhan's body regained presence in her mind. She was so giddy she could even ignore the taste of blood in her mouth. She kept her eyes averted as Waltraud pulled her covering back up.

"We are to meet Roozbeh at a farm some miles from here. For a few gold coins I am sure the farmer has some clothes to spare." Fozhan murmured through the blaze of her blush.

Waltraud laughed and with no shame she climbed into the saddle naked. She lifted Fozhan to sit before her. So with her eyes carefully kept on the ground Fozhan rode off into the sun with her shinning prince.

 

 

 

The pair arrived in safety of course. The king's men had tried to trap the Beast but Brynhild knew her sister would escape. Mortal men were no match for a wolf's cunning. There had been the discrepancy of one maid’s dress, but none could prove she had not fallen into that mud puddle while hunting.

So the king had had no cause to imprison Lady Röselein's wolf despite his shoulder being mauled by those jaws. The Parsi princess had provided a solid alibi, the pair had been seen traveling all day through-out the kingdom, even taking lunch with a peasant family. Waltraud's old ally Gilbert the Bear was mysteriously missing but none of their men had survived the battle in the glen to provide possible witnesses of the treason and sacrilege.

And the king knew not to endanger his own secret by confronting Waltraud about the whereabouts of her sworn brother. The king had been furious she had spoken to Grimhild, and Brynhild allowed him to believe that Waltraud knew what her human form was. If it would keep the woman free, and allow Brynhild another meeting upon the battlefield.

Ludwig had been reduced to hunting the trail of Gilbert the Bear and the page boy alone, chasing after their fading trail towards the south. Lady Röselein and her beast remained untouchable, and would be for a while more. The Parsi princess was a "two-faced bitch" but her position as heir to the Imitiyazid dynasty would protect her forever. Prince Franz still needed a bride after all, as fickle as his father's choice was.

Brynhild cared not for such petty politics. She was suffering in a most dignified fashion in her own bed, ignoring the footfall of the flurry of courtiers rushing to give their condolences to their wounded monarch down the hall. They called for war with the rebellious south and for the head of Gilbert the Bear. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pain of wounds that could not be seen. She feigned an intense malady of muscle and stomach to find this small relief of solitude. She turned over again and again in her hand a wolf totem. Carved from ivory it had come with her from the shore of her native Kalaallit Nunaat.

"Grimhild?" She had said the name like it had meant nothing to her. The wolf opened her eyes. Could one of their kind really forget themselves among this crush of humanity? How could she have forgotten her sisters, their mother, even her name?

Brynhild tossed the totem and caught it in her hand. She sighed; well she supposed she could only make Grimhild remember herself. She put a thumb to her lips at a distressing thought. Had Grimhild even forgotten what lay beneath her skin?

Ah sister, this must be why I must meet you now. Before you are lost entirely. Brynhild placed the totem beneath her pillow as she heard the door open.

"Lady Dagmar?" Her man Kjars approached her with a low bow. "The king has asked me to inform you that you will be joining the rest of the late queen's family at the estate in Lietzow."

"Did he say for how long?" she sighed. He raised his eyebrows.

"Until you are healed." Brynhild softly scoffed. She bowed her head however.

"Whatever his majesty wishes." She beamed and dismissed the man from his presence.

I will help you find yourself Grimhild, was her promise in the night. For she loved her sisters, as they loved her. Grimhild may have forgotten that devotion, but Brynhild would reawaken it and see Grimhild fulfill their shared destiny alongside her.

And one day they would all dance alongside one another, as they devoured the sun itself.

 

8: Eight

       Warning: This chapter begins with a description of animal decapitation.         --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The scorn pole was a waste of flesh, of both men and horse. Waltraud raised her eyes up to sneer at the decapitated horse’s head, the blood sliding down the slender ash pole alighting the morning air with a smell that had stirred her from sleep. It had propelled her into dreams of war, twisted and broken memories of battle playing across her mind. Her mouth tasted once again the blood of the prince and king, and the feel of their bodies breaking beneath her teeth had roused her to chase after the nostalgic taste. She had risen from bed to look out her window. They had fallen upon the glassy eyes of the slaughtered war mount, a gesture meant to frighten and shame her.

                And she had laughed at such desperation.

                At the foot of the pole, smothered beneath the pouring of blood from the horse’s head she found the runes meant to curse her pending marriage and existence. Beneath those symbols were the last lingering traces of the smell of fear from the palms of the man who had raised the pole. Further buried, the deepest of all, was the smell of the old female hands that had carved those letters against her.

                She knew the godi, the very one that had blessed the marriage she now cursed. The man was like the wolf that had protected the king, known yet unknown. Someone she had never paid enough notice to link a scent with a face, just one scent in a torrent of hundreds. Waltraud narrowed her eyes, a paid man surely, and one purchased on the advice of the wolf who knew of the Beast’s abilities. The king had never been so careful before with his treachery. She licked her jaws, and tonight, at the marriage feast, the king and godi would die.

                And the wolf, the wolf…the wolf would surely reappear.

                She had smelled the cloak that had harbored her opponent again and again until the smell withered away upon the air. A familiar scent that had faded from the halls as Waltraud worried the single token she had of her rival. The wolf was gone from the castle, and had revealed herself to none but the one she had called “sister”.

                The smell of woman and bitch, she had even stood naked beneath the cloak until she had attacked. She had come to the grove knowing Waltraud would be there, her equal adversary. If not for the princess Waltraud would have showed the wolf her true self, the breadth of her jaws and the sharpness of her teeth. The final battle was coming and somewhere deep inside ached an ardent anticipation for a fight that would be unlike any she had fought before. She had never fought someone who was like herself, magnificent, vicious, and beastly.

                Yet for the first time she felt a terrible anxiety at the thought of battle. She didn’t wish to kill this wolf, and the part of her she felt yearned for the wolf’s blood frightened her. Why should she kill this person like herself when she had never known any before? Why should she feel a need to annihilate that existence when she had no true idea why she and this wolf existed?

                Lady Röselein had reassured Waltraud’s doubts with the belief that she had been created to fulfill the destiny of the House of Wulfstochter to rise again. Her family had always held the wolf in high esteem, and surely it was the work of the gods that she should find one to serve her. It gave their struggle divine precedence, and they had used it to raise men and arms. Yet if such a thing was true, why should King Ludwig have also found such a creature?

                Waltraud had kept these insidious thoughts from her mistress when they had convened about the battle in a secret oubliette within the estate of Lady Röselein’s remaining family. To her lady the existence of the other wolf was a sacrilege, and one Waltraud must annihilate.

                “But, my lady, how could there be another one like me?” Waltraud had at last asked in desperation after she had described how she had been foiled in her murder of the king.

                “She isn’t like you,” Röselein hissed through clenched teeth. She shook her head and spread out her braids in a disgusted flick of the hand. “I don’t know what sorcery has allowed that wench to walk on all fours like you, but she is nothing of the like. There is none like you, my Beast, for you alone serve me.”

                Waltraud had nodded, trying to accept these words as comfort. She was in the right, thus she was the destined vanquisher of a false foe. Yet in her chasm of doubts she fell when she recalled how she had been called “sister”, a sibling, one of the same flesh and blood. “Grimhild” was a name unknown to her yet one that seemed complementary to her true self. Why had the wolf called her that? Called after her like a lost love?

                I would like to know that wolf’s name, was the most troubling thought of all. For that name could only complement hers. Within that name would be the truth.

                And that truth was known the same night she confronted another.

                “Have you decided?” Her lady had asked over her wine glass, her shadow long against the distant wall of that secret chamber as the fire roared furiously with the wind screaming over the roof of the old home. “What to do about the Parsi princess?”

                Waltraud turned towards the flames, seeking no warmth and only distraction from something burning far hotter within herself.

                In the past weeks they had spent nearly every hour of every day together. The princess was teaching her how to be a stateswoman. Waltraud was slowly learning the speech and writing of the Parsi court, getting a taste of its laws and customs. It was a massive task she approached with finesse and devotion. Her bride had clapped her hands in praise every time she mastered a new word or concept.

                Roozbeh had proven to be a strict and capable teacher. Waltraud could believe even a wild wolf could learn to be a queen beneath his tutelage. He did not adhere to the method of memorization alone but believed the best way to learn was to engage in the subject matter. So far they had played out hundreds of court related scenarios with Waltraud speaking very clumsy Parsi, and managed to singe a bed sheet during a demonstration of Greek fire. In those hours the animosity between the mentor and Beast diminished as they found a common interest in knowledge.

                Perhaps the man had been surprised a foundling could harbor such curiosity about the world, but such knowledge allowed Waltraud to engage in a small world of fantasy. It was an indulgence she had never been allowed before, to think of another life besides the one she lived. Though such things must belong to a delusion, she welcomed the distraction, especially as her grief for Ernst pursued her across her dreams every night.

                She had had no contact, no word of her lost companion. She could have none; she had given him up knowing so. In freeing him she had resigned any right to know his fate. She could only hope their strings would be woven together again, one day. And the anxiety of this lack of knowledge had let her sleeping mind create a thousand horrific scenarios.

                And what did the princess dream of, when she intended to share her bed with a wolf?

                “I will marry her,” Waltraud said simply.

                “And…will she survive the wedding night?” Röselein pressed. Waltraud didn’t answer and only looked at her lady’s intractable expression of possession. The fallen princess’ self-satisfied smile turned cruel as it opened to reveal her own fangs in the firelight. Fangs that were far smaller than Waltraud’s, but just as sharp and deadly. “You cannot leave me until you accomplish what you promised me.”

                “I know.” By her blood she knew it. Waltraud at last raised her head. “If she lives…is dependent on how useful she may be to us.”

                “My Beast.” Lady Röselein had laughed in great satisfaction.

                That girl appeared by her side, occupying the void Ernst had left. Her eyes were wide over the edge of her veil as she raised them up to look upon the mounted head. Waltraud could imagine the grimace twisting the princess’ lips, and she pulled up the scarf she had been given by the other woman. She hid her expression and let the choking smell of blood be swallowed by the fragrance of her bride. The turgid scent of sour sweat, aromatic roses, and acrid hormones; this was the smell of the one who would stand by her side until the day she died. Her mistress’ scent left her nostrils, and Ernst’s had faded with the wolf’s. Waltraud closed her eyes; all that was around her was fear and desire, the aroma of war.

                “What is it?” The princess asked after she had taken in her full horror.

                “A curse upon me.” Waltraud opened her eyes and kept them upon the dried blood clotted around the pole. “It is to show their scorn in their belief that I desecrated a sacred place with weapons. It is facing my bedroom window and is carved with all sorts of evil letters.”

                The princess scoffed, “you would believe in such a thing?”

                Waltraud moved her head to avoid the eyes of her bride and instead look into the eyes of the other horrified onlookers. None dared to meet the gaze of one damned by the gods. They looked away the second her eyes reached for theirs, closing her off from the world of the living. Everyone was wishing her death, for this blight to be removed before she devoured them all.

                And she at last looked into the eyes of the one who would acknowledge her even as she landed at Pitfall. The princess met her gaze steadily, unafraid of any world where they alone would dwell. Waltraud looked away; perhaps the other wolf was the one who stood by her side.

                “I am damned.” She admitted. It was only true and always had been. It was why she had been able to commit such sacrilege at all. She flinched when the princess suddenly grasped her arm. She squeezed it harshly in outrage and her body became as rigid as a serpent about to strike. She looked ready to spit venom from underneath her veil.

                “Waltraud, listen to me, don’t think such things about yourself! Everyone has the hope of redemption. My God Allah is a kind and forgiving God who smiles upon the righteous. If you are truly willing to repent, you can find his grace.” The princess made a small pleading sound at Waltraud’s incredulous look. “If only I could make you see--!”

                “I don’t trust any god.” Waltraud shook herself free. And she certainly would not beg for anyone’s forgiveness for what she had done. Her regret belonged to herself, and she would trade it for no prize. The princess gave her an eviscerating gaze of remorse that Waltraud sharply turned from.

                It feels like…she truly thinks that. She met Roozbeh’s gaze and suppressed the urge to shatter his glare with her fist. In frustration she stalked out of the courtyard and left the scorn pole behind. Let the curse stand; it would change nothing at all for someone who had been born damned. She had always known to give life to Lady Röselein’s wish she would have to give up her very soul.

                I am not human after all.

                Two pair of footfall followed her, the chain she could not now escape and more distantly the man she would have to kill when she broke it. She let them both chase her up the stairs to the rose garden that was nothing more than a tangle of thorns in the cold winter air. Waltraud stood at the edge of the castle roof and looked out upon the horizon that engulfed all the false king ruled. The city of Berlin shivered before her, a great twisting mass in a sea of fog. Its spires and towers arched like the broken bones of a slain dragon and the smell of its life was the rotting blood of the monster. She raised her head to look upon the great forest that lay beyond the gulf of civilization and for a few seconds her mind reached for that great dark space of safety and tranquility.

                Her reminiscence ended when the girl stood by her side again, on the very edge of Pitfall. Waltraud watched the easy flight of swans overhead as the princess watched her with crushing determination.

                “Hey, have you told your people yet, about us?” she asked as she recalled the dream of the past two weeks.

                “Yes.” The princess answered stolidly and let her words hang upon the frozen air. Waltraud could only at last laugh at her fortitude, on the cusp of their binding.

                “In all this time, you still haven’t asked,” Waltraud explained to the mollified princess, one finger upraised even in clarity. “Why?”

                The princess stepped back instead of answering with a denial of any kind. Waltraud smirked and followed up her attack.

                “Why haven’t you asked yet how I heard the arrow that day I was nearly killed? Why I am so much stronger than I should be? Why I kill with my teeth? Why I should be damned?” The Beast gave a hysterical laugh that the princess flinched at but didn’t look away from. She continued to stand in muted courage, even as her knees shook and the smell of fear began to lift off her body.

                “Why….” Waltraud chortled as she removed the bandage upon her wrist and let it fall away. “I should have no scar at all, when you will always carry mine?”

                The princess looked upon her whole wrist and at last broke. She reached for the small span of flesh and fell before she could reach the threshold of reality. She didn’t hit the ground however and caught herself with a steadying step. She gasped and wrapped her arms around her waist as she absorbed the full impact of the blow. She looked up however even with her eyes full of tears.

                And Waltraud knew if she had been betrayed, if the girl did truly know the truth, she would have no choice but to kill her now, and her man too.

                “I never asked….because it didn’t matter! Lady Waltraud, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter. I know one day I will see what you are, and it still won’t matter, even then. I have chosen you and I will not break that vow!”

                Waltraud staggered back at the assault, she had not expected to be told such a thing, but she knew the words could only be true. The princess was as single minded as she, and reality didn’t matter at all in the realm of desire. She looked at the crying young woman before her, and felt tears warm her face as well.

                “Oh, my love,” the princess sighed and reached for her wet cheek with gentle fingers. She had not forgotten her fear by her trembling, but she would reach for the Beast across any void. “Why are you crying too?”

                “I don’t know.” Waltraud admitted. Frustration tore at her chest, anxiety sliced across her innards, and fear choked her heart. It was a wrenching ache with no locus but the woman before her. She recalled their kiss and the promise for her happiness.

                Her fists clenched with the thought, because one day I will have to show you my true form, and you’ll suffer for it. And there was no comfort in the callous thought that Parsi had chosen this for herself. There was no space within Waltraud any longer to be bitter at her, consumed in this moment of remorse.

                She only continued to weep and let her bride dry her tears. Below the scorn pole was removed and the evil runes were scratched out. Waltraud knew however neither curse nor benediction changed anything. For fate was the strongest will of the universe and hers had been decided long ago.             

                Grimhild was surely a name that carried an unfathomable destiny, and only one who knew it could know what it truly was. Yet, like her bride, as much as she wished to see that true form, she also wished to ignore all the warnings that went with it. Let that terrible day never come.

                Yet, she would greet it with open arms, and let it consume her down to the very last bone. 

 

 

 

                Fozhan was aware she had signed her death warrant as she put her name on the letter to her father. It was the announcement of her marriage, meant to arrive the very day of the act. It was after Waltraud had confronted her about why she was walking into this union blind. It was because nothing could undo this, even her human fear or doubts. She had made her choice and in honor and dignity must accept its tribulations and consequences.

                I will save you and my people, was her rallying cry against the vision of the Beast of Ländle. Her sense railed against the idea of a skin-walker. She had been raised in the coevals of great philosophers who said logic governed this world, and God himself was the epitome of sense. Why would such a God expose men to such beings?

                “This is a fearful and superstitious land, my lady,” Roozbeh had reminded her as she fretted in bed one night after a nightmare of howling wind and blood. “Whatever they don’t understand, it becomes the Other.”

                Who could understand a being as magnificent as Waltraud? What else could pitiful men turn a great and deadly woman into but a snarling beast? No, Waltraud was surely human. She must be. Demons only belonged in men’s minds. Man was the origin of all, and God was the origin of man.

                But, as she recalled those jaws dripping with blood, she knew she had given herself to something great and terrible. Anyone could see how those blood-stained teeth had inspired such horrid stories. Waltraud had wept, not in regret, but in fear. And fear of seeing what she truly was.

                And in that moment Fozhan had reached for her, and had promised to never look away. That was why it didn’t matter, would never matter. Fozhan knew what Waltraud was, and what she was capable of, for good or for evil. And for this she had signed her death warrant. For if she was wrong after all, and the wolf instead devoured them all, she would deserve nothing less. It was the only way she could justify her actions to anyone.

                And with such a sword hanging above her head, she planned her wedding.

                It would be a simultaneous affair of East and West, fitting for such a uniting marriage. First there would be the ceremony of Fozhan’s homeland with the men and women sitting separated. Then would come the pagan rite and the dance and feast. Waltraud’s people called for a great hall, for the day to be on that of the storm god’s, and for there to be flower garlands everywhere, even in winter. Only petty details would be different between the ceremonies. The wishes for long life, happiness, children, and appeals to divinities would remain the same in any context. The celebration would be constant, the feasting, dancing, and good wishes. In this Fozhan exerted her influence. Let the silk flower garlands be of the tulips and roses of her homeland, let myrrh burn from the lamps, and let the food be picked by her cook. Let the Alemannians keep their beer, she would drink gentle light wine.

                Waltraud was not necessarily disinterested in such plans as much as perhaps overwhelmed. She sat in silence during the marriage negotiations, though she had indicated she would accept the final terms against other spouses, and the agreement to never to return to Alemannia when she left it. She was happy to leave such strategy to her bride and instead continued to learn the Parsi alphabet. She only suggested the older east hall with its impressive stained glass window be used instead of the current dining hall. Fozhan had readily agreed to the idea, marveling that such a magnificent art of her homeland had also come to Alemannia. Waltraud had smiled and reminded Fozhan the window faced west, so that the setting sun would full the colored glass to its burning apex.

                Three days before Fozhan became a woman for her love. The hair was plucked from her body, with only a cushion remaining between her legs. It was the last shred of her girlhood, and it was shorn away by delicate turns of thread. She admired herself in a mirror before she was dressed, and wondered how it would feel to have palms slide down her bare skin. And she felt as though she was something mighty in her newly exposed body.

                And then the day came.

                It broke with a thunderous crash. The clouds rolled in with a booming melody and hovered dark and imperious over the Behrschloss. The resident seers debated if this meant Donar had given his blessings for the marriage or was warning of further catastrophe. As the evening drew near however the cloud released only a gentle and soothing rain onto land and Fozhan felt the grace of Allah in every drop. Listening to the tender hymn and imagining the blood being washed from the Donar-stone she was bathed and exfoliated. The Alemannians had their own preparations and she did not see a glimpse of her bride nor Lady Röselein the entire day. All the better, for her stomach churned in anticipation.

                She dressed in her bridal outfit when the henna on her hands had dried. She had chosen white to heighten the darkness of her hair, the warmth of her skin, and the shinning of her eyes. The only colored threads were the delicate arabesques of birds following the flight of the simurgh, her family’s symbol, across her legs, thighs, and waist. The great phoenix spread his wings at the apex of his heavenly flight just below her breasts. It had been her mother’s dress, it had stayed locked away in a cedar chest for decades. When it had been exhumed it had wafted the perfume of the clandestine, thick and heady. As Fozhan let her hands trace across the elegant silk she recalled the feeling of the sultana’s hands, comforting and engulfing.

                “Oh mother, let me be as wise and brave as you were.” She whispered where her mother’s lap had once collected, her words only heard by herself and whatever spirits remained behind.

                She forgot her father, her letter, her family, and her duty. For a day Fozhan let herself only the simplest pleasure of a bride, one of hope. She lost herself in the heady bliss of felicities; even aware they were largely false, given upon the tongues of strangers who were too afraid of their king to unfurl their sneers save in private. Roozbeh and her ladies however put aside their misgivings and made every effort their mistress should be kept in happiness for this day. They dressed her lovingly, sang old wedding songs as they perfumed her hair and draped her breast with pearls and rubies. Roozbeh escorted her proudly down to the hall and held a cloth over both of their heads for the short walk across the courtyard.

                Outside the hall was the pavilion for the men, as the women had the honor of sitting inside and closest to the couple. Here the boy from the day of the duel handed Fozhan a small bouquet of daisies, probably picked by his small hands. He blushed at her words of gratitude and Fozhan kept the small blooms at the head of the great bouquet she had accumulated in her walk down the carpet across the courtyard. She smiled to hear the great clashing of drums and horns by musicians outside the hall; though the songs were different the noise was the same, joyful and clamorous.

                She was lead down the aisle left open by the women. She sat before the large mirrors and candelabras the occasion called for. Her ladies stood around her to hold the green cloth over her head and that of her bride. Fozhan smiled at the waiting holy man.

                He was the Sufi Abbas son of Jamal. Fozhan had taken him as part of her retinue as both holy man and poet, and likely with her father totally unaware she had intended him to perform her marriage ceremony. He was liked by the Shah, as a man of words, but not of the book. Fozhan would make the argument however words were a craft employed by both the basest lecher and the most inspired imam. And that this contrariness pleased Allah. Fozhan smiled at her handsome poet who she dared not allow into her own quarters but would listen to for hours. It was the sort of cautionary relationship that well defined hers with Waltraud. She adjusted the gossamer veil that concealed her face and sat in tranquil humility before the Alemannian court women.

                And her bride appeared only a moment later.

                She at first saw only the oiled leather boots that enclosed her loved one’s calves. Eventually her lowered eyes took in the woman’s supple thighs, striding out of a long coat of mahogany damask embroidered with delicate gold trim. Her sleeves reached her knees and a flare of yellow undershirt was seen when they fell to pool around Waltraud’s elbows. The other woman sat before her with a small smile. Her fingers didn’t reach for the veil that enclosed her bride’s face but only for one of the small daisies gathered at her breast. Fozhan let her fingertips brush the incline of Waltraud’s wrist, where no scar existed, as if no wound had ever touched it. Fozhan didn’t raise her head to look for Lady Röselein, nor Roozbeh, nor the king, nor anyone, she let herself be lost in the miniscule gesture of tenderness, and hoped Waltraud had also found the peace to do so.

                As the Sufi began to recite his sermon about the importance of marriage, in Parsi for nothing could be done about the language barrier, Fozhan kept her eyes on her bride’s face. The woman betrayed no feeling of misgiving in her expression, only a sort of reserved determination. It was not a look of hope or joy and Fozhan’s heart trembled. She knew the importance of maintaining a detached presence in front of so many, especially when many were hostile. But could she not, just once, meet her eyes? Even through the veil and the animosity of their audience? What was Waltraud thinking about, as she watched the simurgh shiver every time Fozhan breathed?

                So intent was she that Abbas had to gently touch her elbow to prompt her to answer his question if she consented to the marriage.

                “Yes.” She would not hold her tongue for the customary three times. After all she had asked Waltraud to this marriage when she had challenged her. The same effect as a usual ceremony was reached as Abbas did have to ask Waltraud three times if she consented in his heavily accented Alemannish. Though Waltraud merely looked confused at what she was being asked and not like she intended to imply she had the freedom to refuse the marriage.

                “I offer this to you,” Waltraud again stumbled over her words and gestures in the unfamiliar ceremony but offered the mahr after removing it clumsily from her coat. It was an arm band, so common to the Alemannian court, and carved with a wolf’s head. Not the raven of the Anselmlungs then. “As my wife.”

                Fozhan bowed her head and accepted the piece of jewelry. Yet if this marriage would be like no other, neither would be the binding.

                “And I offer you these,” Fozhan removed the ruby earrings from her ears. “As my wife.”

                Waltraud hesitated, but offered an open palm. She had no true idea that usually only one party in a wedding ceremony was offered mahr, and she appeared happy to follow her bride’s lead. Fozhan only shook her head and reached up to pierce Waltraud’s ears.

                                “As I will always wear your mark, you will wear mine.” She said softly as Waltraud’s blood clotted on her fingertips. The other woman didn’t even flinch, and she only continued to stare at Fozhan in a subdued shock. A woman laughed and it proved to be Lady Röselein, resplendent in red silk and white silk roses, from her position near her daughter’s side. Waltraud glanced back at the sound but when she looked again at her bride she at last smiled in true pleasure. It was brittle, regretful, but there as blood slid down her neck.

                The marriage contract was then signed, and the ceremony completed. Fozhan gently put a small drop of honey upon her bride’s lips and the gesture was shyly returned. Waltraud gently pulled her to her feet and pointed.

                “The godi.” It was the same old woman who had augured the date of their marriage. She was approaching from the west end of the hall, drenched in the fractured colors of the dying sun, behind her followed two handmaidens holding a garland between them. Waltraud’s eyes narrowed and her lip slightly rose in a snarl. Fozhan knew then this must also be the person who had carved those evil symbols upon the scorn pole. Was she not also a favorite of the king? The person who had cursed their marriage would perform it.

                So, in the end, this union would mean nothing to the Alemannians at all.

                If the woman saw the angry expression she ignored it. It was gone as soon as it had come before their piqued audience. The godi merely raised her hands and turned towards the sun. The women kept the men away as a goddess was invoked and continued to keep them at bay as the garland was wrapped around the hands of the couple. Was this part of the ceremony? Or had the Alemannian women simply come to enjoy this new sense of power in solidarity? Fozhan turned away as the garland was removed after a sonorous chant.

                “I promise to love, cherish, and honor you,” Waltraud promised again.

                “I promise to love and honor you, and always remain at your side.” Fozhan promised again, and forever.

                A cup was offered and after some delicate maneuvering she and Waltraud managed to both sip out of it at the same time. Fozhan tried to not make a face at what tasted like wine mixed with honey and fresh blood. With that bitter taste upon her tongue Waltraud leaned in to kiss her and complete the ceremony.

                The kiss was controlled, as respectful and graceful as removing the veil from Fozhan’s face. It was nothing like the one where Waltraud had stood naked before her, wild in gratitude and bold in passion. It was not an act however and for Fozhan’s benefit alone. They parted, and Waltraud had never looked so beautiful with the light of the sun drenching her in warm hues of red and orange.

                The first cheer was from Lady Röselein, and at last the men were allowed to flood in and add their voices to the surge. For a few seconds more Fozhan held Waltraud’s gaze, but at last she was torn away by her mistress, but for the last time. Waltraud was returned some time later to sit at her bride’s side and receive the congratulations of each member of court before the feast began. The last one to offer his blessings was the Sufi; already well into a cup.

                “Let me address the court,” He said in his broken Alemannish. He turned towards the assembled party from his high place before the couple’s table. “I have made a ruba’i  for the couple. And the very good Sidi Roozbeh made it into Alemannish for me.”

                As he took out the piece of paper Waltraud asked, “Your holy man writes poetry?”

                “Oh yes, he is the best of my court.” Fozhan beamed.

                “Ah. I guess all poets are lushes.” Waltraud shrugged and Fozhan bristled. Abbas cleared his throat however and began to read before Fozhan could correct the view.

What need does a raven have for a dove?

When she can fly just as well above?

Alone, unfettered, and content?

But what keeps her from falling? Love.

                Fozhan rose to toast her poet and Waltraud’s smile pleased her. Before she could speak however another voice from outside boomed into the hall.

Oh but how does a raven

Pluck a dove?

She can always fondle, push, and shove

But no egg results from the love

                Fozhan froze in abject humiliation, not even daring to look at Waltraud as she heard her hiss besides her. Her face became very hot as she watched most of the Alemannian court begin to laugh.

                Not to be outdone however Abbas quickly recited another verse in Parsi, which Roozbeh translated for him in a booming voice.

The fly is the most jealous of all

For he is small

And he can buzz all he wants

For none will ever feel him at all

                Fozhan could perhaps only thank Roozbeh for making the incredibly vulgar verse her poet had recited in their native tongue into something acceptable for ears yet still biting in its turn of phrases. Abbas beamed, completely unaware that his reference to the man’s genitalia and his ability to “fuck” had been completely removed from the Alemannish version of his ruba’i.  It was at this point Waltraud stood up, furious at the inaction of the king.

                “If you do not have that man silenced and punished immediately I will do it!” She snarled at the monarch who sat only one table away from her, well able to hear all.

                “Calm yourself Lady Waltraud,” the man soothed as if she was being terribly uncouth. “It is already done. There is no need to make a fuss.”

                Waltraud opened and shut her mouth in a rage. Nevertheless as no verse countered the Sufi’s second one she at last sat down. She was inconsolable, to Fozhan’s distress she began to drink heavily in response to the snickers and smirks of the court. It was such a wide change in character that Fozhan could only look on in wonder. Never before had Waltraud seemed to be so moved by other’s opinion of her. Yet perhaps the scorn pole had scared her more deeply than she had admitted and the fresh humiliation had at last broken her.

                “Don’t take it so hard,” Fozhan softly urged after the third cup. She put her wrist onto Waltraud’s in an effort to calm her. “It doesn’t matter; soon we’ll be far away from here.”

                Waltraud paused at the words, but said nothing to compliment or deny them. She only looked away and signaled for another drink. Fozhan would not be ignored.

                “If you are so drunk that you vomit, don’t expect to be allowed into bed tonight!” She warned with a glower. Waltraud choked on her drink.

                “Never, never!” she groaned, though what she was refusing was unclear. Fozhan leaned in.

                “Would you not even dance at me?” she sighed.

                “…I feel ill, my lady.” Waltraud admitted after a pause. She leaned back in her seat and dropped her head. “Please excuse me.”

                “What choice do I have?” Fozhan huffed and turned away as Waltraud left the festivities not even an hour after the wedding itself. Roozbeh walked up on seeing the other woman’s departure and took the seat next to his lady.

                “Is she really leaving so soon?” he asked lowly in Parsi.

                “She is ill from her drink.” Fozhan glowered at her hands, the dancing couples before her a hateful blur. Roozbeh said nothing and merely put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Fozhan was grateful if he spared her another lecture about her choices in life.

                “You saw that scorn pole,” Fozhan reminded him. He only nodded as she looked up at him. “How can these people do such awful things to each other? She says it damned her.”

                “All people can do terrible things to each other. Do not forget the intrigues of the court.” Her mentor sternly reminded her. Fozhan shook her head.

                “But a soul, they could never even touch a soul.” She insisted in her disgust.

                “Take comfort in the idea that you will be removing her from this place. She may well improve in our homeland.” They were the first hopeful words he had ever spoken about Waltraud. He smiled at her look of wonder. “What is done is done, and now we can only make the best of it.”

                Fozhan knew this was resignation speaking, but resignation was not the loss of determination.

                “I should go to her, something is simply not right.” Fozhan decided. She glanced at the crowd. “It is not as if any here would miss me now that she has left.”

                “Will you return?” he asked.

                “Perhaps,” Fozhan adjusted her veil. “I already told her if she vomits she may not share the bed.”

                She smiled at Roozbeh’s incredulous look. “I shall take a woman with me, stay here and keep an eye out till dawn.”

                He bowed his head in supplication and returned to his previous seat a few tables down. Fozhan summoned Laleh from the same table. The girl followed behind quickly and pursed her lips when she saw her mistress’ tense shoulders. She bowed her head and followed the princess in silence to the marriage bower. The Alemannians raised their drinking horns to her as she passed in some uncouth gesture. Despite their smirks Fozhan walked with her head held high and her shoulders back. She paused however as Lady Röselein appeared before her. The older woman bowed lowly.   

                “My lady, please do not leave until I get a chance to at least speak with you.” She asked.

                “Speak freely.” Fozhan allowed, surely whatever her mother-in-law could say could not compare to the embarrassment she had already suffered.

                “I only ask that you treat her gently, Waltraud is so very dear to me, and her happiness has been my only wish. Please excuse her if she had wedding night jitters.” Röselein rose with a flourish. “And know I would have never given her to any other.”

                “Thank you for your words, my lady. I am honored to join your house.” Fozhan bowed in mutual respect. She was allowed to pass, yet even as she exited the hall she felt Lady Röselein’s eyes upon her, lapping up every footfall as if it was a drop of blood. She had felt the same eerie feeling when the marriage contract was being negotiated and every day she’d had to sit across from Waltraud’s guardian. It was a superior look of vicious amusement and Fozhan felt as if she could feel the trap springing shut.

                This place! Had always had such a suffocating feeling. She briefly braced herself against a cool stone wall as they left behind the courtyard and began their ascent to the second story. The ceiling above was already lost in darkness, not even the torch light could pierce the thick veil of night. It felt as if that distant surface could shatter and break and kill all below.

                “My lady?” Laleh gently put her hands on her mistress’ waist as Fozhan wrapped her arms around herself.

                “It is nothing. I am sorry. My dress is thin, and I wish to get out of the cold.” She explained and the handmaiden accepted this with a nod.

                Are you nervous, my love? It’s all right, I am too. Fozhan gave a small smile as she pulled her embrace tighter around herself. At last they united, at last they stood in solidarity. Two equals who could never be driven apart. Now, and only now, could she see Waltraud as she truly was; her one and only. And now she had been given the means to set the Beast free.

                “You may leave now. Do whatsoever you wish until dawn,” Fozhan excused her woman. Though she knew none of her retinue would allow the sanctity of this night to be compromised. Nevertheless Fozhan personally had no greater expectation than to dry a few tears. Let all of what was petty wait until a time when it could be enjoyed.

                She didn’t light a candle? Fozhan tensed as darkness surged out of the doorway and engulfed her as she shut the door behind. She strained her eyes to see in the weak light with the sun just gone from the horizon. She slowly moved towards the bed, barely outlined in the twilight. That must be where her bride was.

                “Waltraud?” she called lowly. A sound like a hiss answered her and she paused. There was a scurry of movement across the floor. The kitten meowed and Fozhan nearly collapsed at the tiny sound.

                “Blackie!” she cried. The kitten’s eyes reflected in the darkness and Fozhan became aware the feline had perched upon a pile of clothes. She reached down and pulled up the shirt; it was bright yellow.

                “Waltraud?” she called again. At last she was answered. A tall shape stood up on the far side of the bed.

                “Oh,” Fozhan sighed, recalling Waltraud was still quite drunk. She had even undressed? The woman took a step forward only to be stopped by the smell of smoke.

                “What?” she began to ask as flares began to flicker across Waltraud’s form. Fozhan fell speechless as the other woman reached up towards her face. With a shrill sound of tearing Waltraud’s head was ripped apart. From beneath the smoking shreds of flesh a wolf’s head emerged.

                Fozhan felt herself struggling to scream, speak, and even breathe. She felt the world begin to spin as Waltraud continued to rip her very body apart, with hands that were not human, with beastly strength, to reveal something beneath that was monstrous. The discarded flesh smoldered and at last burned away to ashes. The self mutilation lasted for only seconds yet the horrific ordeal stretched into hours in Fozhan’s mind as she felt every shred of flesh be lifted from her own bones.

                And then the wolf stood before her, as she truly was, a great beast.

                She was large; she gazed over the rim of the bed with ease. She was magnificent in her vicious symmetry and beautiful with her great glowing eyes. She was terrifying with her snarl of sharp fangs. She leapt over the bed in one simple arabesque, a perfectly coordinated killer.

                Fozhan was clumsy prey. She leapt back into a night table at the lunge. She fell with an excruciating gasp against the wall, one leg of the table painfully shoved into her back. The wolf snarled again and opened her jaws to show the princess her death.

                The cat, quite unconcerned about what was going on, after all, she could have only known all along what her mistress truly was, chose that moment to jump into Fozhan’s lap. She blinked at the wolf and the beast hesitated at such indifference. In that one second of lassitude, Fozhan reached out towards life.

                “Oh no, Waltraud,” her hand shook yet she still sought to touch that black fur and look into the eyes of her bride. As her fingertips made contact with the thick coat, as she felt warmth seep into her fingers, she knew this could be no dream or illusion. She felt tears begin to flood her eyes.

                “I wanted to see, I wanted to see you as you truly were! But I didn’t! I didn’t--!” She gave a scream of agony as her world fell around her. The wolf raised her head and stepped away. Fozhan put her hands on her temples to silence the reverberation of the world shattering. She lifted her head in time to see the wolf break the window and leap into the night.

                “Wait! Wait!” She pleaded as glass shards ignited the air. The wolf ignored her however and disappeared by the time Fozhan reached the window.

                “WALTRAUD!” Fozhan screamed into the darkness. She reached into the void her beloved had left and tried to pull anything back. Her hands remained empty, save for the memory of the fine and warm fur tickling her fingertips. Her breast heaved and her throat ached as she gave one last painful expulsion of emotion.

                “I am afraid! Yes! I am afraid, but not of you….my love….” She sobbed. She had only cried out at the cruelty of it all! Yet even weeping she kept her head held high, knowing there was only one thing she could do.

                Find her, and never let her go ever again. 

9: Nine

Waltraud could not know fear in this moment. The smell of blood was on the air, casting a path for her to follow into battle. There were beating hearts drumming, mouths open and gasping, breaths sour with beer and malice, sweat laced across shivering bodies, and their fear, their fear alone, everyone who knew what would happen this night, this was the only fear she recognized.

The princess was forgotten. For above all else there was a wolf and a wolf who also felt no fear. A wolf that had not shown herself but had remained hidden save for smell, a thin waft dragging across the celebration. A wolf who would only reveal herself when Waltraud did, dripping in blood and fear.

She fell upon the musician who had insulted her earlier. He was still outside the hall, unpunished, staggering and boasting of his prestige of insulting a monster. Waltraud leapt out of the shadows and into the firelight, teeth bared and jaws open. She crushed his neck in one bite and tore his head off before he even felt death come upon him. Screams ignited the night as the Beast of the Daughter of the House of Wulfstochter announced her intention to hunt this night with a boisterous howl.

And she was answered. From within the hall she was answered. Tonight there would be a hunt by wolves, rapacious and devouring. Howl with me again, my sister!

They came at her with their spears. The castle guard huffing in their armor and praying with their doomed mouths. She leapt over their heads, letting them stab up at her unprotected belly in futility. Nothing, nothing could stop the fury of the Beast. These poor, pampered fools of the king, they had never hunted a wolf before. They were no match for her, her equal waited inside for her.

"Dead, it was supposed to be dead!" All gathered cried in agony into the night.

She shattered the stained glass of the hall with her charge, avoiding the useless defense of the doors. After all, it was the very reason why she had insisted on saying her wedding vows before the dying sun, with the fading light filling the colored panes with the last gasps of sunlight. She landed where she had kissed her bride, but even that lingering smell of fear didn't stop the Beast.

The godi was the next to die as the hall collapsed into a rushing whirlpool of those who wished to escape and those who were following Waltraud's charge into battle. The old woman was sitting beside a younger woman on a bench, mouth open in amazement. Waltraud bit into her soft belly, tearing away the intestines with one shake of the head. The priestess never even raised her hands up, in full submission to the gods, perhaps her act of penance before ascending into Hel.

And the young woman, who had been hidden away during the wedding, who now sat with her hands in her lap, drenched in the blood of her family's priestess, grinned. She was the same woman who had warned of Ernst's imprisonment. She was the one who had stood naked under the cloak in the sacred grove.

They were both here now; the wolves.

She laughed and laughed. She threw her head back and asked, "And what will you do now, Grimhild?"

And Grimhild turned away and began to race towards the head of the hall. Ludwig was sitting upon his raised seat, still and impassive. Lady Röselein let out her own shriek of laughter, her own shrill battle cry. For the Wulfstochter heiress had laughed at every man she had ever killed. She leapt up onto the table and drew a sword from beneath her voluminous skirt.

"Follow!" she gave the cry to their allies, as she had so many times before. They were few in number, but the austerity of having a divine protector had leaded them to countless victories. The fallen princess raised her sword in belief her Beast was the only true descendant of divinity.

Ludwig however called upon his own guardian as the hall ripped open into a bloodbath as his men were rushed by Lady Röselein's guard.

"Brynhild, Brynhild!"

I have wanted to know that name. And that name came with a torrent of nostalgia that drenched Waltraud to her soul. Images of a pack of mighty sister-wolves came rising to the surface, of a hunt that had no matched grandeur in any mortal world, and of a shared destiny that united them across all the ages of time. They were flickering lights of the past and future, coalescing upon her psyche, much older, and newer, than she had ever before realized.

I am, I am-! She flew over the guards' heads, without even thinking what was driving her towards killing the trembling old man before her.

And she knew it then, as she landed before her prey, before what would inevitably goad her sister into a terrible final battle.

I am a wolf.

Brynhild ascended above the same gambit as Waltraud. Man fought man, leaving the wolves to their own intractable dance. Brynhild bit into Waltraud's shoulder to coat her fangs with her sister's blood. Waltraud screamed, never before knowing such a pain, every nerve was on fire, yet it raced along her fibers with a scintillating pleasure. It urged her on, for her to taste the blood of her long awaited final opponent; to secure the battle by a drive of frenzied bloodlust.

You came all this way. She rolled onto her side as the excruciating bliss overtook her. Brynhild lunged for her throat, and Grimhild caught the underside of her shoulder. She bit down, seeking to crush the bone by wrenching her head back and forth. Brynhild gave her own cry of agony as her blood choked her sister.

You came all this way to kill me. Brynhild made Gimhild's jaws loosen by putting a paw down onto her sister's torn shoulder and pushing. The wolves separated, both dripping the blood of the other from their gasping jaws.

But do I wish to kill you?

The opponent she had always longed for, the complement never found within man's strength or ferocity. Her human enemies had always been crushed between her jaws, unable to compete against a wolf's bloodlust. She had waited all her days to meet someone who would at last give her a true battle, not a mere hunt upon a battlefield. Had this terrible poignant moment, where she must fight every second for her life, is this what she had been waiting for all these forsaken years? Her blood cried out for blood, she had been born to kill, she had always known it, but was this wolf the one she had been waiting to slay?

"Waltraud!" A voice from far away, yet one that would always find her ears.

"Waltraud, don't forget yourself!" Lady Röselein shrieked, lost somewhere amongst the carnage and screams. Waltraud raised her head and saw the cowardly form of the king retreating behind a wall of men. A man who should not even be worthy of her attention, yet she had sworn to slay. With a snarl she pushed herself up, remembering Ernst's desperate cries from that day. Brynhild lunged to protect her patron, but her teeth found only wooden boards as Waltraud rolled beneath her and away from her jaws.

She used bulk alone to push away the men, letting them stab her with their short blades at such a close distance. She was foiled by Brynhild alone as the other wolf clamped onto her rear leg and pulled her back. When a man tried to pierce his spear between her eyes she tore his guts out, her fangs crushing his armor between them. The rest fell back, leaving Waltraud to the grim realization that if she wished to kill the king she had no choice but to kill the wolf first.

With renewed fury she turned around to snap at her sister. Brynhild released her and leapt back only to propel herself forward again with open jaws. Then there was nothing but snapping teeth, snarls, and a bloodlust so fervent Grimhild was barely aware of her torn throat clotting the floor with bright blood. There was nothing but gore and an ecstatic fury she became lost in. Somewhere someone cried out again and again for the human woman known as Waltraud, but the wolf only sought to rip her opponent down to bones and gristle.

Never had she known such joy in battle! It was a delight to trade blows, to feint, counter attack and attack again and again, to see every movement matched by a counter move as graceful, cunning, and vicious. It was a complete immersion in ferocity, the penultimate expression of her true nature. It was a dance no mortal could ever understand or appreciate.

And Brynhild was as happy as she, being here in this last terrible moment with her, until the very end.

Then a body was thrown between them, and a new gush of blood expelled its scent across the battlefield. It was Lady Röselein, ashen faced, side pierced, and shuddering in agony. She turned onto her side with a groan in the puddle of wolven blood. Waltraud paused as her human life fell around her.

"Protect her!" The princess screamed at her. Her wedding dress was torn and blood-stained, and her cheeks blazed on her naked face. Brynhild moved to lunge again and the princess rolled beneath her. She stabbed up at the unprotected belly with her sword and the wolf screamed in pain. As Brynhild tried to wrench back to bite into the princess, Roozbeh appeared to slam into the beast and unbalance her.

Waltraud gathered Lady Röselein as gently as she could between her jaws. The battle was lost, the king was gone, and their forces were overwhelmed. Waltraud looked back only briefly as she began to lope out of the hall. Brynhild was retreating away from Roozbeh's sword. Their eyes met, the other wolf would not be giving chase. Waltraud could not fathom her motivations, but she led the retreating princess and her man out of the hall by sheer weight alone. She plowed over men as she escaped the hall into the night.

The princess' maidens were waiting upon horseback but Waltraud slipped past them. She leapt over the heads of the rear garrison; the princess was left to defeat those who didn't chase after the Beast. She crushed the gatekeeper beneath her feet as they came upon the last great obstacle of the castle. She released Lady Röselein to pull open the doors with her teeth. The woman slumped, but raised her head to watch the distant spectacle of the Parsi attachment battle the castle guards. She laughed weakly at the sight.

"She is letting those girls die for her!" She sighed and shook her head. "Now, we owe her something."

Waltraud chose not to look; their dying screams and the ardent bloom of blood was enough. She instead coaxed Lady Röselein to climb onto her back as the doors swung open. She leapt out of range of the garrison's spears, weaving across the crowd gathered outside the palace. People screamed to see the Beast of Ländle conjured out of the shadows of the night. They clasped their amulets tightly as the Beast rained down blood upon their upraised faces. The wolf climbed up onto the rooftops and like a hellish spirit continued her charge across the night.

"Waltraud. You're leaving a trail." Lady Röselein gasped into her ear at the sight of blood flowing down eaves. "We need to get out of the city, but that little chit is following us. It'll be more prudent to escape on the back of her horses. Turn back into a human."

Waltraud turned her ears back and heard the gallop of the princess' favorite charger. A common green came into view and with one supple leap she landed at its far end. There amongst the frost covered grass, she let her human skin grown back over her lupine body. Encased in mortal flesh she collapsed in agony, burdened by all a human woman could feel. Lady Röselein weakly stood guard as the princess' greatly reduced party arrived.

"Waltraud!" she cried as she dismounted. She was stopped however by Lady Röselein's sword point at her throat.

"Ah. Ah. Now you know the truth about Waltraud." She shook the sword in warning. "What will you do now?"

"Love her, as I did before." The princess glowered and Lady Röselein's eyes widened in disbelief. It was the last thing Waltraud saw as her head fell back and her small, human body fell into unconsciousness. The wolf dreamed however, and guided by the agony she felt, into intricate nightmares of blood and fangs. She dreamt of the past and of the future, visions she would forget when she would awoke, as frail and mortal as before, but the pain would linger on.