Chapter 3 Declan

Not far from the outskirts of the capital of Odairo, two men were travelling towards the palace.

"Declan, wait up!" A blond man in his early twenties shouted as he ran through the trees to reach the second man.

"You're too slow," Declan's cold, husky voice answered.

He didn't once turn to look at his comrade as his dark eyes scanned the area ahead. The colour of his eyes was not common in Ehlesaar, whose citizens had lighter coloured eyes, with blond or brown hair and skin pleasantly tanned under the summer sun. Declan was the opposite of the warmth of the people of Ehlesaar. His pale skin and dark black hair gave him a foreign look; he stood at six foot four and towered over most, with a lean yet muscular build. He would turn twenty this coming winter.

Declan was an orphan. Despite his traumatic past, he remained composed and strong. However, behind those dark grey eyes, he held secrets, pain, and nightmares of long ago. His frown deepened as he looked at the palace of the royals.

The time had come to face the man responsible for the death of his family. He had bided his time, keeping his pain inside him for years. No matter how scared and confused he had been as a child, his father's words kept him strong.

He had always been advanced for his age, but after that dreaded night, he had changed even more, shedding away his childish dreams and whims and focusing on revenge. To learn the truth and to bring justice to his house. Declan had risen through the ranks in the army, excelling in every field, and if ever questioned about that night, he would say he did not remember.

When he was a child, when he awoke screaming and crying from a haunting dream of the massacre, he would never utter what his dreams contained, and with time, he learned to keep silent, waking in a cold sweat. Even now, those nightmares sometimes returned, haunting him and filling him with regret that he had not been able to protect his family.

"Ah... can you stop with that frown?" Aren, the blond, spoke up, bringing Declan out of his dark thoughts. He ignored him as he continued walking.

His black pants and tunic with his grey belt that held his twin swords had nothing to show off his status. Gloves covered his hands, despite the warm weather, and a black cloak fell over his shoulders. He held the reins of a white stallion that carried a few bags.

A soft wind blew through the trees, ruffling Declan's black, chin-length hair. The city was getting ever closer, and Declan wanted to reach it as soon as possible.

"If you're done talking, shall we continue?" He asked coldly.

Aren sighed inwardly, knowing this was not easy on his best friend and closest confidant. They were sent to the palace by the general of the western border, General Elian of House Halan, one of the five generals of the king.

"You know we were sent because general Elian trusts us more than most," Aren said quietly.

Declan didn't reply. From the way he stood, emotionless and calm, one would not think Declan of House Storm was the only survivor left of the entire clan, a clan that was once said to be as powerful as the royals. A clan sacrificed for the betterment of the kingdom. Aren pulled himself out of his dark thoughts despite the pain it bought to his chest. He was one of the few who would remember and never forget the gift of peace that cost Declan his entire family.

"Well, do you think we'll get to see those pretty little things?" Aren asked suggestively, a small smile playing on his lips.

Declan did not need to ask to know what he meant – the four princesses were said to be the most gorgeous women in the land. Not that he cared, nor was he interested. He would never feel anything but hate and disgust for the royals who sacrificed others for their own selfish gains.

"I'm not interested. Remember why we are going there, Aren," he said curtly as he raised his hand. A ball of lightning crackled around it, and Aren stepped back. "Or I won't mind reminding you." Aren winced.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said. "You're no fun."

"Good." The younger man walked ahead, leaving his comrade behind once again.

The streets of Odairo were busy, despite it being so early. The market square was full of hustle and bustle. Street vendors were already set up, selling an array of things from general daily household needs to trinkets and ornaments that one would buy a woman they wished to pamper to toys and puppets to please the children. Stalls of fresh fruit and vegetables displayed the ripest of the day's pickings and sweet baked delicacies and desserts to pick on whilst shopping.

The air was filled with the many smells of everything available to purchase, mixed with the scent of women's fragrances and the fresh breeze. Despite it being the capital, it was clear Ehlesaar was still nature's haven. Trees and bushes lined the cobbled streets, and there were fountains and small flower beds with benches scattered around.

Women in elegant yet often revealing gowns sashayed around, with nothing better to do than come to the market for some fun. Young children ran away from their parents to play with other kids they were passing in the busy streets or simply to annoy their parents. Middle-aged women stopped amid their shopping to gossip about the latest news of the neighbourhood, and men smoked their cigars or had a cup of tea as they laughed jovially over the discussions of a hunt or an upcoming wrestling match.

Aren whistled softly, his eyes running over two women who walked by. Both cast him a look, giggling as they whispered to one another, admiring the warriors.

"The women of Ehlesaar are the most beautiful," he murmured to his dark, brooding companion. Declan did not reply, ignoring the looks he got from passing women. He was not interested.

The crowds were filled with heads of brown or blond hair, and he did not miss the curious gazes that came his way. It was a shame that a clan that was once so famous had been forgotten so quickly. Did the people of this kingdom forget about the pale-skinned, dark-haired House of Storm completely?

Why did we even come here? Declan thought in bitter annoyance, glaring at the happy blond next to him who was staring shamelessly at any female body that passed him. Declan stopped suddenly, and Aren slammed into his horse's rear, making the horse neigh and kick the offending man, causing a few passersby to snicker as Aren landed on his butt. His light tan skin flushed red in embarrassment as a few young women pointed and laughed.

"What was that for, Declan?" He hissed, getting to his feet and looking at the man who had the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"You wanted to come here, despite the importance of our duty... then get what you need, and let's go. If you were not staring at every woman that walked past like a lecher, you would have seen that I had stopped," Declan's icy voice explained before he turned and walked off, his proud horse in tow.

"I'm going to get my revenge Pedro," Aren promised, glaring at the horse who simply tossed his white mane and followed his master with the same arrogance. Aren frowned. "Like master, like steed, you are both annoying. God knows how I put up with the both of you,"

Declan ignored him as Aren rushed to buy some fruit for himself and hurried after his friend, offering him a ripe mango which he refused. Aren shrugged and tossed one to the horse, despite being kicked by him only moments earlier. The dull ache from his kick to his thigh was still there, and he knew it would leave a bruise.

As they got closer to the palace, they could see the guards spread around the outer walls of the palace and along the bridge. The guards at the first gate asked them their business, only to notice Aren of House Silver Mountain's crest. Allowing them entrance, a stable boy took Pedro's reigns from Declan, stating that he would be fed and sheltered.

A man in a smart grey tunic, the Ehlesaar Crest of a White Wolf howling at a silver moon with three claw marks tearing through the moon, was embroidered on his left shoulder. It was clear he was a high-class servant. His next words made Declan freeze,

"Duke Declan of House Storm, Lord Aren of House Silver Mountain, I welcome you on behalf of His Royal Majesty," he said, not noticing Declan's anger.

He had never accepted the dukedom of his house. How dare the king call him by a title he did not earn... was this a joke to the man? He clenched his free hand that was not resting on the hilt of his sword under his cloak, trying to calm the raging storm that was growing within his chest.

That title had been his grandfather's until it was torn from him in cold blood. His father should have inherited that title, and then his brother. It was not his to take or to carry. Not like this. Declan frowned as they walked along, unseeing anything.

Evaan... finally, after years, I get to see you. You owe me answers, and I intend to get them. No matter what.

Rage and anger blazed inside him, licking his insides, consuming him, inch by inch. His hands crackled with electricity, but he closed his eyes, controlling that inferno of fury within him...