Alternate Universe: Aêron Thunderfrost, Lord-King of the Five Realms faces the danger of destruction and betrayal after his wedding to Emilynne Fairschilde. Both keep dark and mysterious pasts, that seem to be rising against them now in a time of change and rebellion.

There were many things a ruling king was responsible for. He had to sit on a throne, rule a kingdom; make decisions for his people that he deemed fair and just. He was an image to fear and revere; a figure of authority and regality that he would carry every waking and sleeping moment of his life. For the Lord-King Aêron Thunderfrost of the Five Realms, he carried these duties, and he carried them well for many years. Almost twenty years, the Lord-King had taken the throne from the Tyrant, and long had the people of his kingdom lived in peace.

Born to his name, the Lord-King had two children; two heirs to the bloodline and the throne. His firstborn, the Heir-Queen Arwen was a beautiful young girl, a spitting image of her father; dark hazel eyes and a quiet, almost brooding countenance at only seven. One would gaze upon the young Heir-Queen's face and find it difficult to see traces of her mother inside her, and perhaps it was a good thing – no one could doubt that the former Queen had been faithful.

His second born; the lastborn to Lord-King Aêron's name, was Crown Prince Jackesyn – the First Son and One Heir to the throne. Though the four year old boy bore such a prestigious title to his name, young Jack was second to the throne, as accordance to the order of his birth. It was only because of his mother's side that he had been given such a blessed title – Queen Haley had always wanted a boy more than anything. It would – and had for a brief time – cement her place by the Lord-King's side.

At least, until the Queen's death at the hands of the Lord-King's malicious and wicked cousin. Stead of plunging the metaphorical knife into Aêron's back – George had plunged the knife into his cousin's chest nine times, and left him to watch his wife die from a slit throat. It was only by the swift actions of his children's tutor that saved the Lord-King.

Now, the tutor was currently the topic of conversation of the Lord-King and his Chancellor. They sat in his royal chambers, a room separated from the council and his bed – a place he often went to sit in peace and quiet and consider things when the voices grew too loud around him. The Lord-King Aêron was dressed in his deep navy blue high collared, full sleeved shirt and breeches; the royal crest of a crowned panther with its accompanying eagle in the background emblazoned upon the left side of his chest.

The King huffed as he leaned back against his high-backed chair, his circlet crown resting at the ridge of his brow; the iron and gold adorned in tasteful but glittering jewels. Rarely did the King ever don the Royal Crown, lest he were to entertain foreign governors. Presently the Lord-King was watching his Chancellor pace the room, frowning in annoyance at the repetitive gait. Aêron huffed impatiently again as he threw down his feather pen and glared at the bearded man.

"Your constant circling is making me dizzy, Rossetti," he growled, and the Lord-King's fingertips found their way over his temple. The throbbing was dull for the moment, but judging by the way Chancellor Davyd Rossetti was still grumbling at him about this matter, the migraine would only intensify. Finally the Lord-King grew impatient, and snapped at the older man. "By the Fallen Gods, Rossetti, sit down before you make your king cross-eyed and short in the head!"

Chancellor Rossetti glared at the Lord-King mildly, but huffily obeyed as he took his seat yet again by the King's side. "Your Grace," he uttered slowly, weightily; his dark eyes probing at the Lord-King's irritable face. "We've been weaving circles around this topic for much too long. You know the Councilmen insist the presence of a Queen by your side -," he watched Aêron scowl at the reminder. "And another heir to the throne -," he nearly smiled out of the corner of his mouth when the Lord-King scowled harder.

"Why do you keep fighting the inevitable, Aêron? I'm trying to help ease this situation for you!"

"There is nothing to ease, Chancellor," the Lord-King's low voice rumbled in exasperation. "I have no intentions of remarrying, nor producing more heirs – I love my children as they are; two is enough." The Fallen Gods help him if he had to sit through courting women again and laying with her on their wedding night. It had been a two years since the death of the Queen, and never once had the Lord-King given remarriage a thought.

He waved the Italian man's frown aside. "I am much too old to be courting potential consorts anymore, Chancellor – it's such a tedious thing and I have much else to worry about." Aêron huffed at the thought, mouth curling into a scowl at his royal obligations.

"Exactly!" the Chancellor exclaimed, and he rose from his seat with a noisy scrape of his chair against the floor. Rossetti managed a swift apology when Aêron's eyes widened indignantly at him, but the Italian Chancellor persisted. "Why worry about courting new, unknown women when the perfect bride is under your nose right this moment?"

The Lord-King sputtered incredulously. "I can't marry the children's tutor! She would never condone it!"

Ah, the children's tutor - the woman who had once saved the Lord-King's life, and seemed to be in the process of doing so yet again. And pray, who was this wondrous woman of light and splendor, and all things amazing?

That would be Lady Emilynne Fairschilde; Highest of Blood and tutor to the Royal Children.

Born of the oldest House of the realm, Lady Emily, as she preferred to be known, was the only child and last surviving member of her family. The Prentisses were the oldest family of the realm; born of noble blood and regality that sometimes could upstage the Lord-King's. But alas, the remainder of the bloodline was gone, and Emily had sought sanctuary in Aêron's kingdom after coming home to a mansion set ablaze.

With skin white as snow, lips red as blood and hair dark as ebony, Lady Emily was commonly and affectionately known by the people as the fabled 'Snow White'. The name was only ever used in whispers of course; the Lady never hesitated to chide them for spinning such worshipping titles for her. She was a fiery soul; sharp witted and bright-eyed – the perfect tutor for the royal children, and…

…The perfect bride for the Lord-King.

If only the King would see what was so clearly laid out in front of him.

"You know she would sooner kill me in my sleep than lay with me," the Lord-King drawled wryly, and Rossetti chortled at the long-suffering, indulgent look on Aêron's face. The camaraderie between the Lord-King and his loyal servant had long been fodder for the castle gossip; the pair bickered and bantered like a couple long married, and oftentimes it seemed that Lady Emily was already the Queen Consort. She ruled over the King as if she was already his bed-mate and counsel.

Rossetti grinned. "Who's to say that she wouldn't lay with you and then kill you in your sleep? At least then you could die a happy and immensely satisfied man, Aêron." He chuckled right in the Lord-King's face when Aêron's face hardened into a thunderous scowl. It really was very entertaining to rile the King up – he saw now, why the Lady did so as often as she did.

"Come now, Good King," he cajoled, ever skilled with his words and persuasion. It was his profession, after all. "Can you truly look upon my face and tell me that the idea of being wed to Lady Emily does not please you in the slightest?"

The Lord-King frowned, glaring at his Chancellor as his dark eyes seemed torn between admitting his attraction to his children's tutor and damning the idea altogether. Emily was a beautiful woman, without a doubt – with skin so soft and supple and paler than the moonlight and lashes so thick and dark. Any man would be lucky to have her grace his side, and Aêron couldn't help but feel a surge of desire and pride at the idea of having her sit by his side, the Queen Consort's crown adorning her thick, lustrous black hair.

She would make a beautiful Queen. But not only was the Lady Emily beautiful, oh no, she was going to be a fiery Queen; full of life and flame and passion – so sharp was her mind that even the King had trouble fighting back at times.

Yes, yes, she would be a perfect Queen.

It was then the Lord-King was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his giant oak doors opening, and the King stood from his seat at the sound of familiar strides filling the space. His gaze immediately darted to the woman approaching him, and Aêron couldn't help the hitch in his breath when he saw the embroidered corset dress that the beautiful woman wore. It was deep azure, not unlike his own navy, with lace and silk pulling the front together and lining the generous V-neck of her dress.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and inclined his head in a short bow. There in front of him, was the very woman Rossetti was pestering him about.

"My Lady," the Lord-King greeted her, voice a low timbre.

Lady Emilynne Prentiss-Fairschilde nodded her head to the King, curtsying ever so slightly before she smiled beatifically at Chancellor Rossetti. "Your Majesty," she began, turning back to face Aêron with a gleam in her dark eyes. Though her red lips were pulled into a sweet smile, the fire in her eyes was unmistakable – he'd forgotten something. Behind her stood two of the escorts he'd assigned for her since the attack of the late Queen; the gangly magister's apprentice she favored and the Head of his royal Guard.

She insisted that the guards were excessive, but the Lord-King had insisted that if she was to be around his children at all times, it was imperative that he had people around them that he trusted.

Presently the two men were standing a respectable distance from the Lady and the Lord-King, but were watching with an almost expectant amusement. Lady Emily spoke again, teeth bare in a feral smile. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, Good King, but I'm afraid you seem to have forgotten a particular appointment," she drawled the word slowly, pointedly at the confused man. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe it involves horses, a picnic and a certain pair of royal children."

She arched a brow expectantly at the King, nodding her head in approval when she saw the realization fill his hazel eyes. "Very good, Your Majesty." The mock-derision in her tone would've granted anyone else a withering glare, but the man had simply whirled to Rossetti with a hurried dismissal. Lady Emily unraveled the half-cape she held in her hands, shaking out the garment and draping it over the Lord-King's shoulders.

"We'll talk about this later; I have to attend to my children," Aêron told Rossetti, and the Italian man nodded obediently, smirking to himself as he watched Lady Emily spin the Lord-King about to fasten the cape around his neck for him. He couldn't help the quiet chuckle that came when the Lady smacked the Lord-King's hands aside when he tried to help. All the while, the dark-haired pair whispered to each other heatedly under their breaths.

Yes, yes. They would talk about the matter later.

The Lord-King would need time to propose to his bride, after all.

Loud, purposeful strides filled the castle hallways as the Lord-King strode down them with rushed, hard strides. His long black boots were accompanied by the quick, fluid motions of the Lady's own riding boots; the ones he knew she wore under her dress as they were escorted down to the grounds. From beside him, Lady Emily was keeping pace almost effortlessly with the Lord-King, but there was a particularly strong surge of power beneath her strides.

He rolled his eyes internally. "Will you be sulking like this for the rest of the afternoon?" he asked her drolly, the words coming from a bare movement of his lips. Aêron smirked though when Emily hurled a sharp glare in his direction. "It's going to be a long afternoon if you are, and Arwen wouldn't appreciate us bickering while we choose her birthday gift."

Emily scowled from beside him, sorely tempted to stomp upon the Lord-King's foot – or to perhaps elbow him in the gut. "You were supposed to finish a half hour ago," she reminded him tartly, stepping into his space and shoving the Lord-King none-too-politely in the direction they needed to be before marching down the hall again. "Arwen was so sure you were going to cancel today's plans." She glanced at the King sharply again.

Aêron sighed guiltily, boots tromping noisily against the loose gravel of the ground's walkway as they moved down to where he could see his children waiting with their nanny and their ponies. "I know I promised her I would take her today, and I am keeping to my word," he told Emily, keeping his voice as calm and level as he could – Emily had a knack for wheedling out the burdens he carried, and he hated burdening her with the worries of a King.

He huffed as he took the riding cape proffered by the scrawny Magister, holding it open for the Lady as he slid it onto her shoulders for her and snapped the fastening for her. "It was Rossetti – the man is very much a bloodhound when on a scent; or better yet, a toothy little lapdog on the scent of a piece of meat."

Unable to help himself, the Lord-King smiled when Lady Emily chuffed in amusement, rolling her eyes at him as she turned to him just before they reached the children. He paused in his step beside her, peering curiously at her face as she stared up into his just as intently. "Where are Jennifer and Penelope? I had told them not to leave you unaccompanied when without the children."

He had specifically ordered her ladies-in-waiting to keep her within view at all times – and yet he could only see her escorts with them now. No doubt the Lady had ordered them to stay put somewhere. The library, perhaps; she did so enjoy the library.

"I would rather not move within the castle grounds with a party of four at my heels," Emily quipped, shaking her head at the Lord-King when he gave her a perplexed frown. "The King does not wander his corridors or walk the grounds with his entire army at his heel, and so why should I?"

Aêron frowned at her still, but Emily remained stubbornly defiant. "For your safety," he reminded her with a quiet firmness. It never failed to frustrate the King to know that his children's tutor and one of his most cherished counselors refused to consider proper security for her life. Did she not worry of her parents' murderer coming for her?

The Lady remained unconvinced. "I am no frail maiden, Good King. What danger waits for me in these castle walls but perhaps I should trip upon my own feet and twist an ankle?"

"Emily," he chided her, but Emily had stopped very abruptly, and had begun to stare at his face with a frightening intensity. "Emily…?"

"Something bothers you," she said, and her thickly lashed eyes roved his handsome features in a search for the source of the pinched ridge of his brow – as if she could somehow read his worries on the lines of his face. Tentatively she reached out to him, touch the bare skin of his wrist with a whisper of her fingertips as the Lord-King darted his eyes away. Yet again, from a distance, her escorts did their best to remain oblivious to this common show of affection, and Emily tugged at Aêron's hand insistently.

"Tell me what troubles my King," she urged him gently, but the Lord-King began to shake his head stubbornly. She tilted her head at him, squeezing his wrist slightly as she arched a brow with a teasing smirk on her lips. "Come now – I cannot have you brooding and sulking all afternoon, Your Majesty. It's going to be a long afternoon if you are, and Arwen wouldn't appreciate your little storm cloud brewing overhead," she mocked him, grinning when the Lord-King's head shot up to glare at her mildly.

Aêron huffed at her, giving her a low, chiding look that the Lady merely fluttered her lashes at. "By the Gods, you infuriate me so," he breathed, and then squeezed his eyes shut tight before speaking again. Control yourself, man – she wasn't his wife and Queen yet, if she was going to be. "Fine!" he cried, catching himself at the last moment when Emily's pretty face stared up at him with flat amusement. Heat rose from his neck up to his ears as he saw curious heads turn in their direction, and the Lord-King cleared his throat awkwardly before beginning again, calmly this time.

"If the Lady wishes it so, I shall tell her what troubles me," he conceded, and then jerked his head to where he could hear his son call to him. "But after we pick Arwen's horse -," he held up a hand when Emily began to protest, smirking in amusement at the petulant glare she shot him. "I believe we've kept the children waiting for much too long already, haven't we?"

He held out his arm to her and, casting another grin at the huffing woman, led her to his children once she'd taken hold of his arm. "You know, with a pout like that on your face, it would be a miracle if we don't walk away from the breeder with Arwen's horse – and his entire herd – for free."

The escorts behind them couldn't help but snort under their breaths when there came a loud thud, and the Lord-King faltered in his step, swearing under his breath. The snort turned into chortling when the King straightened again, and began to limp painfully down to the children, Emily prim and composed by his side. They didn't need to see her face to know that the Lady wore a smug look of triumph on her pretty face.

"You will be the death of me, woman," Aêron growled at her, but Lady Emily merely tightened her hold on his arm and beamed at his fast approaching children.

"But you would have no one to blame but yourself, my King," she purred at him coyly, and released his arm to pat him soothingly on the chest with a mock pout. When his glare deepened and the scowl just about permanent on his mouth, Emily grinned at him and gave his cheek an affectionate pat. "Now pull up that long face of yours and smile, because your son is about to barrel into your legs."

Just as the King opened his mouth to retort, a high pitched squeal filled the air, and Aêron found his arms full of his son. Aêron laughed happily as the Crown Prince threw his arms around his neck, squeezing the boy tight. "Goodness, I believe Esteban's training has proven true – you jump like a prancing pony now, my boy," he chuckled, and leaned back to gaze upon his son's happy face.

Crown Prince Jackesyn was four years old, and would have been a spitting image of his Lord-father, if not for the soft shade of faery dust in his hair. Jack giggled at him, wriggling in Aêron's hold as he showed them both the dimples he'd inherited from the Lord-King. And then the Crown Prince frowned at his father disapprovingly, and yet again showed the royal bloodline. "Father, you're late!" he scolded the man.

Aêron chuckled at his son, lowering the boy to the ground before bowing at him. "Apologies, O Prince," he uttered humbly, much to the boy's delight and Emily's indulgent eye roll. "It seems that your father had forgotten the time, and your tutor was kind enough to come remind me." He shot Emily a look, which the woman made a face at.

"It's a good thing she did," Jack told him sternly, wagging his finger at the Lord-King with his other hand perched upon his hip. It was a pose he'd seen many a time; the same pose Lady Emmy had struck when he hadn't finished his work. "Arwen would've been very sad if you hadn't come."

At the mention of his eldest child, Aêron looked up to where Arwen sat, calm, proper and ladylike on her Welsh pony. The Heir Queen smiled shyly at her father from her saddle, holding the shifting pony at bay as she waved at him to join her. He smiled at her fondly; ever the lady that she was, Arwen was never one to fuss – not in public, at least. It was her duty as Heir Queen to lead the people one day, and she knew to keep her composure at all times.

It saddened the Lord-King a touch – she was so young, and yet her mother's death had pushed upon her little shoulders, the responsibilities of a Queen.

He glanced at Emily, watching as she moved off to go to Arwen and lean up to kiss the Heir Queen on the cheek before brushing back Arwen's long dark hair. His eyes softened as Arwen blushed at something Emily told her, and the way the Lady's hand stroked across his daughter's cheek with as much love as he would. And he could never deny the fact that Lady Emily loved his children as if they were her own; she'd practically raised Jack after his mother's death, and guided Arwen through her lessons every day.

She cared for them, cared for him, gave counsel to the Lord-King when he asked for it, and never had he sensed any growing resentment between them – the same way he'd sensed it in his late wife. She understood the rulings of a king, and she understood the responsibilities of a Queen better than he. Already she was perusing his files and requests like his Queen.

As if sensing his eyes upon her, Emily's dark eyes darted over to meet his once more, and she glanced towards where his stallion stood waiting impatiently; the liver chestnut throwing its head back and snorting for his rider. When the man merely blinked at her, Lady Emily tilted her curiously at him. "My King?" she queried.

Aêron shook himself from his thoughts, and moved swiftly to lift his son onto his dun pony. He spared Jack another smile before moving off to grasp the reins of his own charger, and mounted the stallion with a strong, smooth swing.

Perhaps, he thought, staring at the beautiful woman as she mounted her blue roan mare with swift, effortless grace. Perhaps marrying again wouldn't hurt as much as he thought after all….