Page 13 of Secrets of Avalon
I quickly turn to face the new arrival. My eyes are drawn to an imposing procession ascending the marble steps, each one reflecting the brilliant sunlight, adding to the grandeur of the scene unfolding before me. It’s like I’m in a epic fantasy movie.
Nimue and Iason, the giant guard, bow reverently, their movements punctuating the air with a sense of reverence.
“My king,” Iason’s voice is a low murmur filled with respect.
The king approaches, and holy crap, he's huge. Every well-developed-battle-created-muscle on his body screams 'formidable,' and he walks with the kind of authority that makes you want to bow or run—maybe both.
His clothing is reminiscent of ancient Spartan warriors, a blend of traditional Greek elegance and raw power. The white linen chiton he’s wearing is offset by a bronze breastplate, intricately engraved with an image of a dragon. The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders is held in place by a dragon-headed clasp–a statement claiming status and power.
One thousand percent commitment to the Greek theme of this place. It’s impressive and nostalgic for me. My mother spent my entire childhood reading me myths and legends from ancient history. This place is like I stepped into one of her stories.
At his side, a woman–I assume is the queen–commands equal attention. Her appearance is both regal and fierce. Her tightly wrapped linen dress, dyed in deep shades of blue and purple, hugs her figure, accentuating her strength and femininity. The fabric is embroidered with golden threads depicting scenes of dragons and warriors. Her hair is styled in elaborate braids, woven with thin golden threads, shimmering like captured sunlight, giving the illusion of a crown without wearing one.
I know I need to bow too, and I do, sort of, but I stare while doing so. These people don’t seem real. They look like actors in a play. Or from a movie. The king looks like he could’ve stepped off the set of 300. And he definitely looks scary enough to kick me into a pit if I piss him off.
I continue to stare, rooted to my spot, unable to peel my eyes away from the royal couple.
A few paces back, another man’s presence rivals that of the king and queen. He’s similarly dressed to Iason, wearing only a white chiton draped over one shoulder and no armor or cape. His gaze is sharp, scanning the surroundings with a focused vigilance.
“King Athanasios, thank you for–”
The towering man–King Athanasios–dismisses Queen Nimue, interrupting her pleasantries, and steps directly toward me.
My chest tightens. My heart drops to my stomach. Everything inside me is saying run. My magick is pushing so hard to get out I feel queasy. Yet, I stand frozen, recalling every wildlife documentary’s advice—never run from a predator. But how relevant is that when facing beings of myth and legend?
“You took her from Earth? What is she?” He’s speaking to Nimue, but he’s staring right at me like he can see straight into my soul. “What are you little one? Elf? Fae? Demi-god? Wolf?” Like he’s digging into the deepest parts of me, looking for answers I don’t have.
The gears in my head grind to a halt. My fear melts into curiosity. The question he just asked and the answers he provided… I don’t even know where to start.
Nimue started for me. “I found her at one of the Fae court doors. She’d killed all the men there. Everyone was dead.”
“I didn’t kill them all!” I say, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration. “The Inquisitors killed my family. They killed the guide, too… I can’t control who my magick hurts when it escapes me. I already told you that.” The admission leaves me feeling exposed and even more out of control.
The king recoils and takes a step backward, pushing his queen behind him protectively. His eyes, alight with a mixture of brown and flecks of bright forest green, fix on Nimue, but his peripheral gaze rests on me, assessing, calculating.
Fear knots in my stomach. Is he scared of me? Is he going to want me dead too, like the Inquisitors?
He growls at Nimue, his voice resonating with a deep, primal warning, "You brought danger to my doorstep." The space fills with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife—or maybe a dragon claw in this case.
The king’s magick curls around me, an ominous presence like a serpent poised to strike. Yep, kinda feeling the on-coming death knell. He is pissed.
But Nimue is unperturbed by his displeasure and waves her hands dismissively. “I’m convinced she’s the Fae prince’s mate. She’s important Athanasios. Very important.” Her voice is steady and filled with strong conviction.
He scoffs out a disbelieving laugh. “To your cause you mean. To taking down the High Council. I am not a part of your rebellion, Nimue. How dare you request repaying the life debt I owe you for this?” His words are laced with incredulity and indignation.
My body is a bundle of nerves, trembling under the weight of his magick. It’s dangerously potent, a searing heat I desperately want to escape from. The realization that I’m not in Avalon, as promised, only adds to my growing sense of unease and confusion.
Why are we here, talking to an angry dragon king who clearly harbors no fondness for Nimue’s plans?
I just want to go to Avalon. I want to see that man again, the one that was trying to get to me from across the river. He can help me. I know he can.
I take a heavy breath in and out. Midén. Éna. Dío. Tría. Tésera. Pénde… I count working hard to keep pushing the rising magick inside myself down. I can’t hurt these people.
I don’t want to be stuck in a place filled with angry dragons. I don’t want to be eaten by a dragon…or burned, but that particular thought triggers the memory of my mother’s execution and an overwhelming rush of magick pushes forward and escapes my control. Fuck.
“Melinda,” Nimue gasps, struggling to breathe. “Please, stop. I’m trying to help you.” She’s bent over at the waist, her face twisted into a painful grimace. “You have to control it. He will protect you like a bodyguard and help you control it, I promise.” She points to the man behind the King.
He? Bodyguard? It’s hard to concentrate when my magick is flowing. I try to focus on the man Nimue pointed at. He hasn’t spoken yet. His face is tight, but he’s not physically showing any other response to the pain my magick is causing him. How could a dragon possibly help me control my magick? Why would I need a bodyguard?