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- A fantasy story
- A prophecy, and a curse
- Political intrigue, and personal drama
- Love and loss
Life has not been kind on King Haniman of Dalanthia, but when Emperor Fedromir of Morynthia offers his daughter’s hand in marriage to Haniman’s son, he feels like his luck has finally taken a favourable turn.
However, when he learns about the ancient prophecy that foretells the downfall of his kingdom and doom upon his descendants if the two Glorious Houses unite, he is faced with an impossible choice: come back on his word to Fedromir and risk a war with Morynthia, or proceed with the marriage and curse his own flesh and blood.
Not convinced yet?
King Haniman of Dalanthia stood on the balcony adjoining his bed chamber and looked out over the city. His beautiful city, Ebaru. Founded by his great-grandfather Roshiman the Great. It had everything a royal city needed. From the Royal Palace to the Grand House of Prayer, from the golden beaches to the lush green parks. Everything. Even its streets were paved with the flattest stones one could imagine.
A sigh of contentment escaped his mouth. Life was good – and it just got better. Kiora’s womb had finally blessed him with a son. Not that he didn’t love his daughters, but he needed an heir, and he would have hated to be forced to take another wife because his sweet Kiora couldn’t give him a son. Now he didn’t have to.
His little prince, Aleyshan, was going to be as beautiful as his mother. He just knew it. The gods would bless him beyond measure.
He turned and went back into the bedroom, where the infant lay suckling from Kiora’s full breast.
“Are you happy, Kiora?”
“I am, your Majesty.” Her eyes twinkled like the stars in the night sky, and a smile graced her face. “I am so pleased to finally have given you a son. I can die a happy woman now.”
“Hush. No talk of death, my beloved queen. I need you by my side. I need you for more than just bearing me children. You know this.” He looked at her. The way she lay there, with her ink-black hair fanning out around her head and her golden skin still damp with sweat, was breathtaking.
“I was thinking… we need to give the city a present in honour of the birth of our son, don’t you agree?”
Kiora didn’t answer. She had (…)From: “The Prophecy”, by Daan Katz
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