A Most Odd Dream

She wandered through the halls of Nharati, though she was not quite sure why. What she did know is it was so cold, even the mirrors had a layer of frost on them. Odd, considering it was spring, and the weather was comfortably warm outside. Sure, the evenings could still hold a chill, but the lit fireplaces usually took care of that. Yet this cold, it was the type that sunk right into your bones, and left your teeth chattering. She just could not figure out why it was present. Did the servants not know that the King would rampage at such a thing? That his rage would echo through every inch of the castle, leaving none unscathed? She had to find Christoph and discover what was amiss, and she had to do it quickly.

Her soft slippered feet took her down various halls, flights of stairs, even the servant’s quarters, looking for Christoph, but he was nowhere to be found. Each servant she asked would only shake their head and resume whatever duty they had been assigned. After she had covered every inch of the castle with the exception of the throne room, she finally made her way there. He had to be there, for there was nowhere else. She knew he would not have just left without telling her. Not Christoph. He was too responsible for that; too loyal. So, into the massive room she went, and was stopped dead in her tracks.

Danele had to blink, then blink again, for she was unsure of what she was seeing. Instead of Christoph being present, the King of Nyrthlond and her twin were present. Cyrus was dressed in navy blue short pants, a matching jacket, and white tights with buckled shoes. It was an outfit a child of six would wear, not a grown man. Smears of crimson marred his cheeks, lips, and chin, as if he had just devoured a cherry tart quite messily, and he sat in the midst of, what appeared to be, dolls. There were dolls of all shapes and sizes, both male and female, wooden and porcelain. Behind him, seated on the King’s own throne was Ulrika. She was turned sideways with one slender leg slung over the arm of the throne, swinging it casually. One hand held a large stein, the other a half eaten lamb shank, and perched upon her golden head, crookedly, was her own crown.

“Ulrika, I am booooooored,” Cyrus groaned, his tone juvenile, even if his voice was not. He picked up one of the dolls and held up in front of his face, scrutinizing it with a critical eye.
Ulrika rolled her eyes and took a large bite from the shank, uncaring of the grease that dripped down her chin. “You are always bored. I got you the dolls you wanted. Now, play with them like you are supposed to.” She took one more bite of the meat, then yelled for a servant to come take it from her. A rather bedraggled looking man came shuffling forth, dressed in rags, with head hanging low. Danele gasped, for it was none other than her beloved husband. Shackles circled his ankles and wrists, his body was covered in mere rags, and his head was downcast. For all the world, he resembled a broken animal, without spark or will. “You were not fast enough!” Ulrika growled, conked him on the side of the head with the shank, then tossed it at him. Wyld stumbled, mumbling an apology, then picked up the meat. As he was walking off, he paused to look directly at Danele. That forest green gaze was as bright as ever, and spoke louder than any words ever could have. Save me.

Of course, instinct bid her to run to him, scream that he was the King and could not be treated as such; but she had no voice. She could not run, nor even move in that moment. To any but the retreating Wyld, she may as not have even been there, for they seemed not to take notice. Cyrus still held that doll up before him, then released a long suffering sigh. “Fiiiiiine. If I must.” Strangely, the doll in his hand resembled the King’s firstborn, Uhtred. “You’re first!” The twin actually giggled, then opened his mouth and proceeded to gleefully bite the head from the doll. Danele felt a wave of nausea rush up as streaks of red dripped from the corners of his lips. Well, now she knew where the stains on his face had come from. He tossed the headless body to the side, then picked up another. That one resembled the late Evangeline. His eyes narrowed maliciously. “You hurt me. Now, I’m gonna eat all of you!” And that is exactly what he did. Mouth opened again, and in went the entire doll. Cyrus chewed that little figure quite happily, grinning the entire while. For a moment there, Danele could have sworn she heard faint, muffled screams coming from inside his mouth.

Ulrika, seeming quite happy he was ‘playing’ with his toys, patted him atop his golden head. “That’s my good boy. See? When you have others to play with, you never get bored. Right?” Her tone was that of a patient mother.
Cyrus nodded eagerly, swallowed, then picked up yet another doll, and another; Garnett, Synaria, Mereavus, even Emersyn. Each one had their head bitten off and their body tossed aside. After several minutes of the sickening, and almost comical, display, he finally seemed to see her standing in the middle of the throne room. “Hey sis, what about her.” He lifted one arm to point a bloody finger at Danele.
Ulrika’s head lifted, and she, too, focused her gaze on the silent Queen. The female King regarded her for a few seconds, then pursed her lips. “Hmm, leave her alone.” Then her face brightened as if she had been given the finest gift. “I know! We can make her into a statue, and she can watch everything!”
Cyrus seemed to like the idea for he scattered his dolls to and fro while clapping his hands together like an infant. “Yesyesyes! She can be a statue and see us rule the kingdom!” The man actually squealed with excitement, making Dan wonder if the poor man possessed all of his male parts. Any who could reach a pitch that high had to be devoid of something!
Before she could attempt a scream, she found her body quickly changing into hard, gray marble. It started at her feet and worked it’s way up until she was completely encased, with the exception of her eyes. They were the only things on her body that she could move. Ulrika and Cyrus were suddenly in front of her, admiring her like she was a fine piece of art.
“Ooooh, pretty!” Cyrus crooned. He slid a fingertip down her hard, cold cheek.
“And we can touch her whenever we want,” Ulrika added, cupping her hand around an equally hard breast.
Cyrus frowned, suddenly, and looked toward his sister. “But why did we do this to her? You coulda made her into one of my dolls. She looked really tasty.” He licked his lips hungrily.
Ulrika, again taking that patient tone, kissed his forehead and smiled. Her ice blue gaze turned to bore directly into Danele’s. “Because, my love, she did not save them. She was supposed to protect them, and she did not. Now, she has to watch while we play with them.”
Danele wanted to scream, cry, even gnash her teeth, but the marble would not allow it. All she could do was stand there and watch the two laugh gaily as they continued to trail their hands reverently over her marbled body.

Danele’s eyes snapped open, wrenching her from the dream. With a gasp, she flew up in the bed and placed a hand over her thundering heart. Luckily, her movements were not enough to wake her sleeping, exhausted husband. Instinctively, he did stir and roll to his side, reaching a hand to her belly. When he did manage to sleep, he seemed to do that a lot lately, as if he could protect their unborn babe in the womb. Danele inhaled a deep breath, then released it slowly, then laid back down, careful not to dislodge the large hand. In fact, her own rose to cover it. It was no small relief when she felt the child within give a good kick against his father’s palm. She could not help but to replay the dream in her mind. The images, words, all of it, was still vivid and sharp. What could this one mean? Was she supposed to be the protector of her entire family? Was it a portent of things to come? And why in the hell were Ulrika and Cyrus in it? Yet, the strongest question in her mind, screaming louder than any other, was just one: What in the hell was that?!