Silver Skeletons: Book 3 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Prologue: A Prophecy Intercepted

"It has been observed that within our beloved Kingdom of Noelle, a problem has arisen concerning the homeless and orphaned multiplying in number... all who are presumed to be homeless and/or orphaned will be immediately taken into custody and sold as Slaves in the next scheduled Slave Auction."

Over the past three hundred fifty years since Gerardo of Liko vanished from the records, the Kingdom of Noelle had flourished, reshaping itself through waves of transformation. Art blossomed with vivid colors, cuisine evolved in unexpected ways, and morale lifted like the rising suns. Literature thrived, currency was refined to banish confusion, and the laws grew more complex, reflecting the kingdom's newfound wealth. Gold, satin, and cotton markets pulsed with life, and fashion embraced bold hues while architecture curved into elegant geometric and floral patterns. Yet beneath this vibrant surface, a slow shift was stirring—the end of an era, with medieval customs creeping into the kingdom's heart.

Towns expanded, built from sturdy wood and adobe, their streets paved in stone. Aqueducts snaked through the settlements, chasing away drought, while plumbing—new and fragile—began weaving beneath the streets. Wells still dotted yards, a reminder of the kingdom's past and the uneven march of progress.

On Malla 35, 836 (April 17), the Helvetican Palace gleamed under the Southern sun. Dome towers caught the light, scattering it across the courtyard, while the sea breeze whispered through open windows into the king and queen's chamber. The queen stirred beneath rosy satin sheets, her violet eyes opening to reveal a face shadowed with unrest. Her gaze drifted to her sleeping husband, but she chose silence. Rising quietly, she wrapped herself in a white silk robe and settled before her silver vanity. As her fingers glided through her bright pink hair, her reflection held the weight of a troubling dream she longed to shake free from her mind.

"Up so early, Ariana?" asked the king.

The queen jumped at the sudden sound of her husband's voice, but calmed herself with a smile. "You startled us, Darren."

"I'm sorry, Dear," he replied. "How did you sleep?"

Ariana returned to messing with her hair. "Fair, yourself?"

"I slept wonderfully." Darren slid out of bed, and stretched the sleep from his bulky body. "And I had the most fantastic dream. So realistic, and so beautiful."

"Is that so?" Ariana asked. "What was it about?"

"The setting was today, and we were both in the throne room. Suddenly, the guards escort in this man with an adorable little girl of about ten years old. The man told us he bought her from the market, and that he thought we'd like to have her work for us, and oh—I can see her so clearly!"

The smile on the queen's face slowly vanished as the king continued to explain his dream with enthusiasm.

"She had beautiful crimson hair, bright blue eyes, and glowing skin as white as a pearl. And her lips were so luscious and bright red. Such a lovely child. She said her name was—"

"Nadia," the queen finished for him. There was a look of concern in her eyes. "She said her parents had died and we agreed to let her stay with us. In the end, she married the heir to the throne."

King Darren gazed at his wife in astonishment. "How did you know?"

"We had the same dream," Ariana breathed, barely a whisper. Her eyes locked onto the reflective surface of her vanity. "So vivid, we remember everything."

There was a tense moment of silence before the king asked, "Do you think there's something more to this dream?"

Ariana hoped not. "Perhaps..."

That afternoon, King Darren and Queen Ariana gathered in a pristine white drawing room, its silver and pink furnishings gleaming softly in the sunlight which spilled through the tall windows. Their royal advisor sat nearby, listening intently as the couple confided in him about the haunting dream that lingered in their minds. Queen Ariana paced restlessly, her steps quick and uneven, her fingers twisting her lavender skirts as anxiety wove through her every movement. Meanwhile, King Darren stayed planted on the sofa. He leaned forward with a furrowed brow, eyes sharp with anticipation, waiting for the advisor's words to shed light on their unease.

"Well, from what I hear, this is a very special dream," said the advisor.

"Clearly, Polaris." Darren gestured wildly for more. "But can you tell us why we both had this same dream?"

"I can," Polaris replied. He stood from his chair and began to pace, the queen's apparent anxiety exciting his own nerves. He adjusted the sleek black vest that wrapped snugly over his gold, long-sleeved shirt, smoothing the fabric with quick, distracted fingers. "There have been many studies on these kinds of occurrences, all leading to the same conclusion. These dreams are meant to happen, eventually. If there's a particular time set in the dream, they're said to happen at that exact time."

"Oh, this is wonderful!" exclaimed the king. "Ariana, did you hear?" The queen did her best to match his excitement. "This child—this Nadia—is coming to live with us and marry Myrdor! Oh, our son is going to have the most divine queen!"

King Darren twirled out of the room with a theatrical flair, his boots tapping lightly against the marble floor. Polaris watched him with amusement flickering in his eyes at the king's sudden burst of cheer. But when he turned to Queen Ariana, the contrast was striking. Her expression remained flat, her arms crossed tightly. There was no trace of delight in her gaze, only the heavy shadow of unease.

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" Polaris asked.

She glanced at him, then looked at the floor. "Oh, nothing. Perhaps it's only confusion."

Polaris smiled. "That's understandable. You'll adjust in time."

Queen Ariana nodded. "Of course."

At last, Ariana swept from the drawing room, her satin gown whispering angrily behind her. In the privacy of her chamber, she paced the white fur rugs with clenched fists and stormy thoughts. The idea clawed at her—some little slave girl, a nobody, would soon live under her roof ... and worse, one day wed her eldest son. Her son, a prince of Noelle! And Darren, grinning like a fool, had embraced the idea as if it were a blessing.

Humiliation burned through her. As queen and mother, it was her duty to shield her family's name from such disgrace. But how? What power could she wield against prophecy? Then—like lightning—an idea struck. She rushed to her writing desk, flung open a drawer, and snatched up parchment and ink. Her hand flew across the page in swift, slanted strokes. Once finished, she sealed the letter with silver wax and rang the bell for her Lady in Waiting, her pulse quickening. Whatever it took, she would not let fate undo the dignity of her house.

Her Lady in Waiting entered with a curtsy. "Your Majesty."

"Lusi, take this letter to Count Rallian immediately. Do not return without his response. Understand? No exceptions."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Lusi curtsied and left.

※

Perched on a hill just beyond the edges of Helvetica, a smaller but no less impressive castle loomed with white and gray spires alive with activity, like a hive of purposeful motion. Lusi arrived in a lavish white coach, her eyes widening as the estate came into view. It had been years since her last visit, and either her memory had dulled, or the castle had grown. It now seemed impossibly vast.

Just past the ornate silver gates which curled like ivy frozen in bloom, a sweeping courtyard unfolded. Exotic plants spilled from polished urns and garden beds, and sculptures peeked through dense foliage as though they were ancient spirits caught mid-thought. The carriage rolled slowly along the path, giving her time to admire every vibrant leaf and stone-carved marvel. Even with scaffolding clinging to a few of the towers, evidence of some quiet construction, the estate radiated grace and grandeur.

As the coach came to a gentle stop, Lusi stepped out with practiced poise, her bodyguards in silent formation behind her. She gathered the flowing folds of her royal blue sari, and ascended the wide marble steps. At last, she reached the iron double doors that loomed before her like the mouth of an old and noble beast. She raised the heavy knocker—twice—and waited. One door creaked open, revealing a satyr butler who bowed with impeccable timing, his expression as still and polished as the floor beyond him.

"What can I do for you, Madam?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

Lusi held the envelope aloft. "I have a message from Her Majesty to the count. She expects a response back immediately."

"Please, come in."

The satyr butler led Lusi and her bodyguards through the grand foyer, their footsteps clattering against the polished tile with a sharpness that echoed through the vaulted space. The rhythmic strike of heels and soles felt deafening in the otherwise hushed elegance of the castle, and Lusi winced inwardly at the noise. She adjusted her pace, trying to soften her steps, but the tiles were merciless.

Thankfully, the satyr soon showed them into a nearby drawing room, just a few paces from the entry hall.

"Please make yourselves comfortable. His Lordship will be right with you."

"Thank you," Lusi replied.

As they crossed the threshold, the sound of their shoes was instantly muffled by the thick rug that blanketed most of the floor. Lusi exhaled, a quiet sigh of relief. The room was warm and refined, with velvet upholstery, carved bookshelves, and silver accents that glinted in the filtered light. Here, at last, the air felt gentler, and so did her presence.

As she waited for the count to make his appearance, Lusi allowed her eyes to wander. Her werecat ears twitched with her shifting gaze as she absorbed every opulent detail the estate had to offer. Marble pillars framed the drawing room, their pale surfaces veined with silver and etched with delicate designs that sparkled in the light. Not a single patch of wall or column had been left unadorned; silver motifs curled and bloomed like ivy, turning the rooms into living murals. The furniture was richly upholstered in jewel tones—emerald, sapphire, amethyst—each cushion trimmed with gold fringe, each curtain heavy with embroidery. It was a riot of color and texture, extravagant even by royal standards. Lusi had been raised in luxury, but even she thought this was ... a bit much.

Her eyes fell to the people around her. Attendants moved with choreographed discipline, yet Lusi could distinguish clearly between servants and slaves. The servants dressed in elegance, their eyes alert and their movements confident. The slaves, however, were quieter, their eyes cast down, their presence shadowed by restraint. Each bore a gold cuff around the right bicep, a glinting mark of ownership. Lusi swallowed, her fingers tightening in her lap. She offered a brief, silent prayer of gratitude that she was not one of them.

The air shifted as the door opened and the count finally made his entrance. He strode in with a presence that filled the room, a towering figure clad in layers of colorful silk and brocade. A young chocolate-skinned slave girl trailed beside him, her head lowered, and the same satyr butler flanked his other side. The count's face was a study in contradictions, harsh and chiseled, yet with a mouth that hinted at warmth when it pleased him. Lusi stood to greet him, unsure which version of the man she would meet today.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She curtsied, and extended the letter toward him. "You have a letter from Her Royal Majesty, my Lord. She expects an immediate response."

"Sounds urgent," the count said as he opened the envelope. "Garnet, bring my writing tray."

"Yes, Master," the slave replied with a curtsy.

The count took a seat and read the letter to himself:

Greetings Old Friend,

We have need for your assistance, and it might very well benefit you greatly, depending on how you take advantage of our situation. There is a small girl about to be sold as a slave to a man who intends to bring her to our palace. Her name is Nadia. She is ten years of age, has crimson hair, pearl skin, bright red lips, and blue eyes. We want you to see to it that she does not arrive here. We do not care how you do it. Kill her and the buyer, kidnap her from him and send her away, buy her yourself, do it however you will, but we never wish to lay eyes her. This is not the end to our request, but we shall explain more to you over tea. Come before noon.

Your Royal Queen,

Ariana of Noelle

Garnet returned moments later, balancing a polished writing tray between her hands. The count took it without a word and settled into his seat, dipping a quill into the inkwell. He scrawled a brief reply simply stating he would be along shortly, and would give his answer then. The message was almost careless, yet it carried the weight of a decision already made. As he finished, he stood, the movement smooth but commanding. Instantly, the others in the room rose with him, an unspoken gesture of deference that rippled outward like a wave. He folded the parchment with care, then extended it toward Lusi with a flick of his wrist, offering no explanation, no smile, just the sealed response. She accepted it with both hands, the crisp fold still warm from his touch.

"Thank you for your service, Madam," he said.

Lusi nodded her head. "Good day to you, Sir."

Then she and her bodyguards left the castle, and returned to the palace.

"Makiar," said the count to his butler.

"Yes, my Lord," Makiar replied.

"Get two men to accompany you into town. Have them read this description and see to it that you buy this girl from the slave market. Even if you have to spend a million crescents on her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. I have an appointment with the queen that I must attend. Send me word when you have her. I'm leaving as soon as possible with Garnet and Mauro. Have them ready in ten minutes, and get the coach out front immediately. You may leave after I do."

※

At the palace, sunlight spilled across the marble balcony of a lavish third-floor sitting room, where Queen Ariana and Count Rallian sat in high-backed chairs carved from ivory. Their laughter drifted on the ocean breeze, soft and rehearsed, as they sipped delicately from gilded teacups. The balcony was bathed in warmth, but there was a chill beneath their conversation, one laced with strategy beneath the pleasantries.

Just inside the arching glass doors, Garnet and Mauro stood like statues draped in pristine formalwear, veils concealing their faces from the nose down, and eyes fixed on the floor. Their presence was required by the count, but barely tolerated by the queen. At Ariana's command, they kept their backs turned to the balcony. Her disdain was unspoken, but absolute, etched into the air around her like an invisible law. Slaves were meant to be silent, faceless. And she ensured they remained exactly that.

"Ah, Rallian," the queen said through laughter. "It's too bad you don't come over more often. We certainly miss your presence here."

"Yes well, I've been quite busy since I became a count," Rallian replied.

"It's a shame you had to retire. You were our best White Knight, and there hasn't been one like you since."

"You flatter me, Your Majesty."

"It's true though. We're very disappointed with our current knights. You should train them for us."

"You already have someone training them, don't you? Polaris trained me. Did you replace him?"

"No, but he says so himself these men are undisciplined. We would hope you might have a different strategy. After all, your slaves and servants seem to be well disciplined; you could probably do the same with our knights."

Rallian chuckled, but he slowly sensed the flattery was overdone. "Is this what you wanted to talk with me about?"

"No, we just came to a wrong subject," the queen answered. "What we wanted to discuss with you is the reason we need you to keep that girl from our palace ... or rather, one of the reasons. It was too much to write, especially in the amount of time we had. We also didn't want to run the risk of anyone reading it."

"Well, I'm all ears," said Rallian.

"We want you to pretend that you're King Klaris of Saíd, and write a letter to the king. Here's what you're to write." Queen Ariana handed Rallian a slip of parchment which had been folded many times. "An example of the seal of Saíd is in there. Have it forged, and seal the letter with it."

Rallian examined the seal, and read the note. "I see. You're planning a war."

The queen smiled. "We told you we'd bring empires back into fashion someday."

"Is the king involved?"

Ariana waved a dismissive hand with a roll of her eyes. "Oh please. He's busy adorning the palace right now in preparation for Nadia's arrival."

"Nadia?"

"She's the girl we told you to be rid of. How's that coming along, by the way?"

"I have three men on it right now. They're going to alert me when they've caught her."

"Good. So will you do this for us?"

Rallian shrugged. "Why not?" The queen smiled. "However, I want your word that my estate will not be affected by your reckless act. I have a lot of construction taking place, and no time or money to waste."

"Very well. If anything happens to your property, we shall replace it with twice as much. Agreed?"

"I want that in writing."

The queen's lips tightened, her pride smarting at the implication that her word alone did not suffice. A flicker of indignation flashed in her eyes, but she swallowed it down like bitter wine. If appeasement would get Rallian to write the letter, then so be it. Without another word, she rose gracefully, her satin skirts whispering across the marble floor as she swept out of the balcony.

"Move," she snapped at Garnet and Mauro. They both stepped aside, and let the queen pass.

Rallian trailed behind, his gaze fixed on Ariana as she settled at the ornate desk in the sitting room. Her fingers moved deftly, ink flowing as she penned the contract with calm precision. When the final stroke was made, she slid the parchment across to him. He took it, eyes squinting as he carefully scanned the words and her signature, weighing each line beneath the soft glow of the chandelier.

"Wonderful." He placed the note in an inside coat pocket. "I shall keep this with me for future reference."

The door to the sitting room opened, and they both turned their heads as Lady Lusi entered. She curtsied before she said, "Your Majesty. A message came for His Lordship."

"Bring it here," Ariana replied.

Rallian took the note and read it. He showed it to the queen, and they both smiled at its contents: We have her, sir.