By Yuki Niji
Yuki Niji is my pen name :) This is the start of a futuristic romance. But really, I'm not so good at romance and I really need some feed back.. do the characters work? Is the story boring already? Please, let me know what you think, especially if you don't like it. OKay,I want to know if you do too, but I've got to know if this works at all.
Thank you very very much for your comments!
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"Is it so much to ask?" her brother demanded. He stood by the window, heavy leaded panes edged in the frost of mid-January. The war between Britanina and Norisha had lasted three weeks, from the full moon to nearly the next and it was over, irrevocably over. Their father lay in the family crypt, returned to the estate with foreign honor and respect by the new Lord of Orin. Marcus would never be lord now and though she would not speak of it to him, a streak of silver had started, showing only at the roots near his temple in her brother's chestnut hair. For there to continue to be an Orin Shire at all, Mirala was required to become the bride of the new lord, a foreign sorcerer. "I would that there were another way, Miri."
This he meant, she knew this. She rose, the chiffon of her tunic flowing around her slender body as she moved around the desk to him. It was a large desk, oak, the center of the family business for ten generations and she did not want the past between them. Ink stained fingers, the fingers of a writer, a woman committed to her art and removed from secular life, these fingers, touched his hair, finding the silver no different from the chestnut. "No, it is not too much to ask. I over reacted before. It was a shock to me, that I would be," she had meant to say sold, but that would be too harsh, to painful to her brother, "Married in such a fashion."
Marcus laid an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. "It is not the end of everything. Our line, through you, will still hold this shire."
She trembled. The strength in her brother's arms reminded her of her father, that she would see him no longer. Laying her head on Marcus' chest, she whispered, "It will be a lovely wedding. I will wear mother's gown."
He held her, his face against the top of her head, warm wetness soaking through her hair, making spots of dark honey brown. Her marriage would save his own family, his sons. Their world would never heal though.
Lord Kire Maonz, Lord of Estrile, Master of His Majesty's libraries, and now Lord of Orin had not meet his bride to be, yet. Sada, the grounds keeper for the Orin Manor, held the door for him, looking up at him to meet his eyes. "Are you sure you don't wanna see the rabbit hutches?"
"Quite," Kire said. The stables, dairy, and the small candle factory had been quite enough. Under his armor, a very ceremonial and quite functional blend of gold and tooled leather, he could feel the trickle of blood down his ribs. Nobles went to war, in his culture and this one, he expected. This country had fallen so rapidly, even counting the higher technology of the Norisha, and he expected resistance. Pausing by the door, he reached to pull his braid free of the ring at the back of his shoulder and near his holster. It swung free over his back, like a rope of captured moonlight. He was here, at his new estate by himself. He was a sorcerer, an armed sorcerer, surrounded by already subjugated people with no more than hand held pistols relying on gun powder. It was safer here than the capital, at least that was what his brother, the King of Norisha and now Britanina had said.
There was just so much difference between his countrymen and these people. Their customs differed and he did not truly expect one of them not to try to skewer him. Standing in the doorway, the sunlight fell across his crisp blue wool pants which tucked into polished black boots that rose to his knees, flaring out slightly to protect them. The more military and alien he looked, he hoped, the less likely any of them would be willing to try to use his blood for fertilizer. At least they would not understand the meaning of his jewels, the hoops and jewels that adorned his delicate ears which rose nearly to the crown of his head. The golden one gave him the key to the king's library on their ship, and in the home world, the blue below marked him as the king's brother, and the chain, with it's twelve gold links, was his rank in the magic guild.
When the capital of this world were settled and awards were given, he would receive a green one for his right ear, to celebrate having saved his brother's life. That jewel meant more to him than this entire estate, rabbits and all. He straightened, repositioned one of his shoulder guards. "I should like some tea, and to speak with Lady Mirala."
It was her voice, he assumed, coming from the library. Not that it was much of a library, he sighed, even if it did have a nice desk. Her voice held a thread of authority, independence, something many of the females of this world seemed to lack. He straightened, as if he were to present to a military commander, pulled open the door to the library.
Mirala turned as the door was opened without an announcing knock. She froze, mouth open, eyes wide. She had seen one of their conquerors, the one that had summoned her from Bell's Height Tower. This man was nothing at all like him. She let her hand fall from her brother's shoulder and lifted her chin. "You would be Kire Moanz, I expect."
The smirk lit up his face, slowly lifting into a grin. "And you would be my newest wife, Mirala, if I guess correctly."
She crossed her arms, fingers holding onto either arm. "I am not your wife, yet, sir."
Marcus groaned, thumb rubbing his temple, as he sat down in their father's chair.
"No?" Kire forgot about the wound under his armored jacket and threw both of the doors open wide. "I wonder what kind of primitive ceremony you expect. Must I deflower you before you will consider that you belong to me?"
"Of all the high handed and," she seemed to draw up energy, to his sorcorer eyes, he could see it, trickling over her throat, like tendrils of hair fluttering in her emotions, "And primitive assumptions! Under what circumstances does my being given to you as wife assume that you shall have access to my body?"
Marcus reached for his tumbler of port.
Light of building magic danced in Kire's blue topaz colored eyes. He wondered if she could see it, see his rising energy as he'd seen hers. For the first time since this war campaign began, he felt himself smile genuinely. With a flourish of his hand, he brought a rose of lavender light into being. As he held it out, it became matter, soft petals, silver thorns. "I, Lady, am a sorcerer, never forget. Perhaps I shall magic your heart and your body shall offer itself to me."
"I don't bloody think so!" She snapped, surprising him as she reached out and touched his flower, surprising himself as the rose turned from violet to deepest red, from the color of his world, to the color of hers. Her hand recoiled, fingers arched as if she were not quite sure they were uninjured. There had been no magic in her world. There had been no magic in her.