peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
Last edited:
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Fantasy ~Of Kings and Sibyls~
- Thread starter peritwinkle
- Start date
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- Tags
- adventure high fantasy magical
On the morning of his late father’s royal interment, Prince Lukens of Viria wondered if whores were good conversationalists.
It wasn't long till he had a guess. Glum at his own conclusions, he picked apart his sausage, letting his mind simultaneously sift through potential motivations behind Lord Ashdew’s...generous coronation gift -- a purportedly magical tart.
Luka tried a bite of his breakfast, but found the meat unsavory in the midst of his mother’s silent tears. He glanced up, hesitantly eyeing the queen regent as her red-rimmed eyes stared unfocused before her. Clad in black dress with black gauze veiling her features, she was still vulnerable in a way that was wholly unattractive, and Luka found himself wanting to back away from the screaming sinkhole she was, watching in horror as she gorged herself on sorrow in a glutinous frenzy that was as self-destructive as it was sad.
Blinking furiously, Luka returned to picking at his food, realizing his mother was out of the running for confidante.
His newly betrothed, of a marriage arranged by his grief-stricken mother in a moment of questionable judgement, wasn’t exactly an option, either. To his future wife and queen the Lady Blythe Cairn, Prince Luka need to present strength and surety, not...whatever it was he was feeling.
However, Prince Luka also desperately needed someone to talk to.
The whore, unfortunately, seemed the best choice so far.
Golden sunlight sheered the space between the prince and his mother, dashing oversaturated light over the polished crystal, making his collar seem far too hot. But when Luka avoided the morning dawn by staring at his plate, a pair of eggs gazed dolefully up at him, haphazard spices peppering their surface like a pox.
Luka's stomach roiled.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising unceremoniously from the table. His chair groaned as it slid beneath him, but he made no apology. Luka managed a quick bow to his mother, then hurtled off into the blissful shade of the corridors.
No word of protest emanated from the dining hall.
The silence didn’t surprise him.
The royal keep of King’s Cliff towered over a sloping Capital, the lofty edifice serving as the bustling hub around which merchant quarters, thieves’ dens, travelers' inns, and numerous brothels huddled about like soldiers round a campfire. The architecture of the keep was lush and awe-inspiring -- the ceilings arched high, the buttresses curved sumptuously, and the windows sparkled with stained glass.
Still, the finery of his living space did little to ease Luka's worries -- although perhaps the promise of a few hours more of oblivion might do.
Yet Luka slowed once he reached his bedchambers, managing a ghost of a smile as he recognized a friend. One of his kingsguard and council members, a nobleman called Edwin Tarrin, stood idly outside his bedroom. His cool, weathered face revealed little as he eyed the prince up and down, but Luka saw the question in the older man’s scrutinizing gaze.
Luka sighed, not in the mood for reprimands. “I am tired.”
“At eleven o’clock in the morning?” Tarrin raised an eyebrow. At one-and-twenty years old, whole and hale and well-built, it was true that the soon-to-be sovereign shouldn’t be so exhausted so early.
But Luka scrubbed his eyes, felt weariness in the tightness of his jaw. “It is bound to be a long night.”
Tarrin’s other eyebrow also jumped to his hairline. “You are referring to Lord Ashdew’s...gift?”
“Oh.” Luka rolled his eyes, punched out a sigh. “Not...exactly.” He’d actually been referring to his father’s body soon being interred into the Taivell mausoleum, not to mention the masses of bodies that would be present to watch, but no doubt Tarrin expected he might be...preoccupied most of the night.
Tarrin shook his head, obviously disapproving of the gift. “If your bride discovers this…”
“She will not.” Luka gave him a hard glare, as if the man had determined to inform Lady Blythe the moment the prince shut his bedroom door. His glare turned murderous. “She cannot.”
Despite the fact that Luka was the crown prince of Viria, was due to be coronated this very week, and was lauded to be one of the more handsome men in the kingdom (women purred of his chiseled jaw, his dark curls, his amber eyes), it could still be perilous for their allyship with the Cairns should his bride-to-be find out about this transgression.
However, unless Luka wanted to spurn Lord Ashdew for a second (and no doubt more deadly) time, he didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter.
But Edwin Tarrin only laughed, holding up his palms. “My lips are sealed, Your Grace. Although...I do wonder if you must retire back to your chambers so soon?” He nodded to the end of the corridor. “Council today, remember?”
Luka nodded, breathing his resignation hard out his nose. “Yes, well. I suppose you’re right.” He’d wanted to sob into his pillow for a good hour or so, but dealing with Viria’s problems did take precedence over his grief. No doubt today they’d be discussing the recent harvest and upcoming winter, how to redistribute assistance to those who had been loyal, to those who had paid their taxes. Then they’d have to determine what to do with those who hadn’t -- which was a steadily increasing amount every collection. A worrying amount, to be frank. A very concerning amount.
It was then, on his weary way to council, that Prince Lukens Taivell also hoped his whore had at least been reasonably priced.
It wasn't long till he had a guess. Glum at his own conclusions, he picked apart his sausage, letting his mind simultaneously sift through potential motivations behind Lord Ashdew’s...generous coronation gift -- a purportedly magical tart.
Luka tried a bite of his breakfast, but found the meat unsavory in the midst of his mother’s silent tears. He glanced up, hesitantly eyeing the queen regent as her red-rimmed eyes stared unfocused before her. Clad in black dress with black gauze veiling her features, she was still vulnerable in a way that was wholly unattractive, and Luka found himself wanting to back away from the screaming sinkhole she was, watching in horror as she gorged herself on sorrow in a glutinous frenzy that was as self-destructive as it was sad.
Blinking furiously, Luka returned to picking at his food, realizing his mother was out of the running for confidante.
His newly betrothed, of a marriage arranged by his grief-stricken mother in a moment of questionable judgement, wasn’t exactly an option, either. To his future wife and queen the Lady Blythe Cairn, Prince Luka need to present strength and surety, not...whatever it was he was feeling.
However, Prince Luka also desperately needed someone to talk to.
The whore, unfortunately, seemed the best choice so far.
Golden sunlight sheered the space between the prince and his mother, dashing oversaturated light over the polished crystal, making his collar seem far too hot. But when Luka avoided the morning dawn by staring at his plate, a pair of eggs gazed dolefully up at him, haphazard spices peppering their surface like a pox.
Luka's stomach roiled.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising unceremoniously from the table. His chair groaned as it slid beneath him, but he made no apology. Luka managed a quick bow to his mother, then hurtled off into the blissful shade of the corridors.
No word of protest emanated from the dining hall.
The silence didn’t surprise him.
The royal keep of King’s Cliff towered over a sloping Capital, the lofty edifice serving as the bustling hub around which merchant quarters, thieves’ dens, travelers' inns, and numerous brothels huddled about like soldiers round a campfire. The architecture of the keep was lush and awe-inspiring -- the ceilings arched high, the buttresses curved sumptuously, and the windows sparkled with stained glass.
Still, the finery of his living space did little to ease Luka's worries -- although perhaps the promise of a few hours more of oblivion might do.
Yet Luka slowed once he reached his bedchambers, managing a ghost of a smile as he recognized a friend. One of his kingsguard and council members, a nobleman called Edwin Tarrin, stood idly outside his bedroom. His cool, weathered face revealed little as he eyed the prince up and down, but Luka saw the question in the older man’s scrutinizing gaze.
Luka sighed, not in the mood for reprimands. “I am tired.”
“At eleven o’clock in the morning?” Tarrin raised an eyebrow. At one-and-twenty years old, whole and hale and well-built, it was true that the soon-to-be sovereign shouldn’t be so exhausted so early.
But Luka scrubbed his eyes, felt weariness in the tightness of his jaw. “It is bound to be a long night.”
Tarrin’s other eyebrow also jumped to his hairline. “You are referring to Lord Ashdew’s...gift?”
“Oh.” Luka rolled his eyes, punched out a sigh. “Not...exactly.” He’d actually been referring to his father’s body soon being interred into the Taivell mausoleum, not to mention the masses of bodies that would be present to watch, but no doubt Tarrin expected he might be...preoccupied most of the night.
Tarrin shook his head, obviously disapproving of the gift. “If your bride discovers this…”
“She will not.” Luka gave him a hard glare, as if the man had determined to inform Lady Blythe the moment the prince shut his bedroom door. His glare turned murderous. “She cannot.”
Despite the fact that Luka was the crown prince of Viria, was due to be coronated this very week, and was lauded to be one of the more handsome men in the kingdom (women purred of his chiseled jaw, his dark curls, his amber eyes), it could still be perilous for their allyship with the Cairns should his bride-to-be find out about this transgression.
However, unless Luka wanted to spurn Lord Ashdew for a second (and no doubt more deadly) time, he didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter.
But Edwin Tarrin only laughed, holding up his palms. “My lips are sealed, Your Grace. Although...I do wonder if you must retire back to your chambers so soon?” He nodded to the end of the corridor. “Council today, remember?”
Luka nodded, breathing his resignation hard out his nose. “Yes, well. I suppose you’re right.” He’d wanted to sob into his pillow for a good hour or so, but dealing with Viria’s problems did take precedence over his grief. No doubt today they’d be discussing the recent harvest and upcoming winter, how to redistribute assistance to those who had been loyal, to those who had paid their taxes. Then they’d have to determine what to do with those who hadn’t -- which was a steadily increasing amount every collection. A worrying amount, to be frank. A very concerning amount.
It was then, on his weary way to council, that Prince Lukens Taivell also hoped his whore had at least been reasonably priced.
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peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
Deep violet folds cascaded over the shapes beneath, meeting gingerly at the hips as though regretful of losing their freedom to dance in the light breeze. Edrei’s eyes flickered from one side of the mirror to the other as Laudine fluttered her hands in an attempt to hastily prepare the gift for the taking. The girls at Lady Raella’s home were artful with their hands in more ways than just one, and Edrei was at the very least thankful that her appearance would be at the very least dulcet to the eye.
“You look pretty,” Laudine smiled, showing her pearly set of canines that did not do much to take away from her juvenile facet. She was by far the delicacy of the brothel, a hard to earn title amongst the most beautiful girls of the Capital. Golden locks were a rare sight among dark brick and old faces. “You look like a Princess,” she added with an even bigger smirk, and Edrei could not help but return it almost theatrically.
“Quite the lascivious one, for that matter,” she sighed and slightly tugged at the translucent fabric clinging to her thighs. “I would be thrown before the Gods faster than I could call for my Prince.”
“I’ve always wondered what they wear when they go to bed,” Laudine shrugged her shoulders. “Do they wear those fancy gowns riddled with boning and gold?” She finished tying the laces at Edrei’s waist and straightened herself in front of the tall mirror. “I don’t envy them. And neither should you. They are trapped birds, Edrei... We are free to make our own choices. To live for ourselves... To love for ourselves.” Her slender fingers parted Edrei’s décolletage a bit more, and she gave the girl a smile in the mirror.
She did not reply. Instead, she let out a breath to stifle a grimace, and let the simper on her lips fade naturally. Laudine was still young, and had not been in King’s Cliff for long enough to appreciate its horrors, and for one reason or another, Edrei coveted her ignorance. It was pure bliss, a thin cover waiting to be pulled and expose the bitter reality, which the girl took for granted. She found delight in pleasing other men or women, saw amusement in listening to drunkards babble about their imaginary victories, all of which were sickening to the other.
When the girl disappeared through the open archway, Edrei’s room was left imbued with a delicate scent of lavender. The curtains, rippling in the soft wind creeping through a crack in the window, now appeared aglow in the light of dusk, far too dainty for the city hidden behind them. The seclusion was, perhaps, the only thing that she liked about her home, which frankly, she could not truly call her own any longer.
She did not hear when another crept into the chamber, but only saw the silhouette of a woman painted in the mirror before her. She stood partly in the shadow, traces of light only grazing her high cheekbones and slim nose. In the darkness, Raella almost looked like a more corpulent version of Edrei, her shape still slim around the waist and shoulders, but well rounded where the folds of her dress clung to her form. Despite the dimness, Edrei could read a slight discontent etched on her mother’s face, masked by a cocked brow and an upturned corner of her lips, which often seemed frozen on her features.
“You look beautiful, Edrei,” Raella spoke as she drew closer and stepped into the light by her daughter’s side. “We should be honoured.”
“What honour is there in stripping yourself of all dignity for a man?” Edrei replied bitterly. It had been long since such had affected her enough to earn a tear, but even then, her throat tightened at the sight of herself in the mirror – braided cocoa locks, cheeks florid and eyes tinted dark to match the fantasy of her character. It all seemed sickeningly forged, even for the pleasure of the personage she was to entertain for one night.
Raella pressed her lips together and hesitantly gripped her shoulder. “Not many of us do it for the excitement,” she murmured. “It is especially long gone after so many years. But we all ought to earn our living one way or another. We are but pawns.”
“I never did choose this way,” Edrei said. “You made the choice for me. I was a child. I knew nothing better than to bow to your word. But if you had given me the choice a few years later, if you had allowed me to sort my own living, through my own gifts that don’t merge with those of any other woman’s...”
“Would you have left me then, Edrei?” Raella interrupted, her jaw tensing slightly. “Would you not have feared for your life each time you laid your head on a pillow at night?” She straightened her back and fixated the young with her amber gaze. “It takes one unforeseen madwoman with a foreseen misfortune. Such gifts are not to be shared with just any who seek answers to their questions. You are not a machinery of truth. Our minds are feeble... Prone to making mistakes and fabricating lies. If you made a mistake, I would not be there to help you alleviate its repercussions.”
Edrei’s breath became softer as she listened to her mother speak. It was almost impossible to ignore the lump in her throat, and she briefly wondered if answering her question would carry any significance to the woman. Instead of speaking, she simply lowered her head with obedience and took a step back from the looking glass. The sun had sunk behind the city walls, and the room was now buried in a dim, eerie glow.
The path down to the castle had passed her eyes and left her memory by the time they reached the gates. Around her, a small retinue consisting of half a dozen guards donning silver armour with the sigil of House Taivell clinked and stomped their way through the wide corridors, obstructing a good portion of her view of the keep’s halls. Even in the silence of the night, she could no longer hear waves crashing against the rocky cliffs of the capital, nor the birds that often trilled at the windows of her own chamber; the castle was drowned in utter stillness, which made the feeling of alienation all the more unnerving.
No words had been spoken to her before the armoured faces guarding the Prince’s door gestured for her to step inside. Through the narrow cuts in the guards’ helmets, she could see that their eyes avoided hers, gazing emptily forward, as if they had been charged with delivering a package rather than a living, breathing woman. Perhaps, in other circumstances, she would have been bothered by the silence, but in that moment, there was nothing that she craved more.
Curled on the brisk sheets of the Prince’s bed, her eyes flickered around the apartment in an attempt to fill her mind with a royally golden sight before it was obstructed by yet another face whom she had been paid to please.
“You look pretty,” Laudine smiled, showing her pearly set of canines that did not do much to take away from her juvenile facet. She was by far the delicacy of the brothel, a hard to earn title amongst the most beautiful girls of the Capital. Golden locks were a rare sight among dark brick and old faces. “You look like a Princess,” she added with an even bigger smirk, and Edrei could not help but return it almost theatrically.
“Quite the lascivious one, for that matter,” she sighed and slightly tugged at the translucent fabric clinging to her thighs. “I would be thrown before the Gods faster than I could call for my Prince.”
“I’ve always wondered what they wear when they go to bed,” Laudine shrugged her shoulders. “Do they wear those fancy gowns riddled with boning and gold?” She finished tying the laces at Edrei’s waist and straightened herself in front of the tall mirror. “I don’t envy them. And neither should you. They are trapped birds, Edrei... We are free to make our own choices. To live for ourselves... To love for ourselves.” Her slender fingers parted Edrei’s décolletage a bit more, and she gave the girl a smile in the mirror.
She did not reply. Instead, she let out a breath to stifle a grimace, and let the simper on her lips fade naturally. Laudine was still young, and had not been in King’s Cliff for long enough to appreciate its horrors, and for one reason or another, Edrei coveted her ignorance. It was pure bliss, a thin cover waiting to be pulled and expose the bitter reality, which the girl took for granted. She found delight in pleasing other men or women, saw amusement in listening to drunkards babble about their imaginary victories, all of which were sickening to the other.
When the girl disappeared through the open archway, Edrei’s room was left imbued with a delicate scent of lavender. The curtains, rippling in the soft wind creeping through a crack in the window, now appeared aglow in the light of dusk, far too dainty for the city hidden behind them. The seclusion was, perhaps, the only thing that she liked about her home, which frankly, she could not truly call her own any longer.
She did not hear when another crept into the chamber, but only saw the silhouette of a woman painted in the mirror before her. She stood partly in the shadow, traces of light only grazing her high cheekbones and slim nose. In the darkness, Raella almost looked like a more corpulent version of Edrei, her shape still slim around the waist and shoulders, but well rounded where the folds of her dress clung to her form. Despite the dimness, Edrei could read a slight discontent etched on her mother’s face, masked by a cocked brow and an upturned corner of her lips, which often seemed frozen on her features.
“You look beautiful, Edrei,” Raella spoke as she drew closer and stepped into the light by her daughter’s side. “We should be honoured.”
“What honour is there in stripping yourself of all dignity for a man?” Edrei replied bitterly. It had been long since such had affected her enough to earn a tear, but even then, her throat tightened at the sight of herself in the mirror – braided cocoa locks, cheeks florid and eyes tinted dark to match the fantasy of her character. It all seemed sickeningly forged, even for the pleasure of the personage she was to entertain for one night.
Raella pressed her lips together and hesitantly gripped her shoulder. “Not many of us do it for the excitement,” she murmured. “It is especially long gone after so many years. But we all ought to earn our living one way or another. We are but pawns.”
“I never did choose this way,” Edrei said. “You made the choice for me. I was a child. I knew nothing better than to bow to your word. But if you had given me the choice a few years later, if you had allowed me to sort my own living, through my own gifts that don’t merge with those of any other woman’s...”
“Would you have left me then, Edrei?” Raella interrupted, her jaw tensing slightly. “Would you not have feared for your life each time you laid your head on a pillow at night?” She straightened her back and fixated the young with her amber gaze. “It takes one unforeseen madwoman with a foreseen misfortune. Such gifts are not to be shared with just any who seek answers to their questions. You are not a machinery of truth. Our minds are feeble... Prone to making mistakes and fabricating lies. If you made a mistake, I would not be there to help you alleviate its repercussions.”
Edrei’s breath became softer as she listened to her mother speak. It was almost impossible to ignore the lump in her throat, and she briefly wondered if answering her question would carry any significance to the woman. Instead of speaking, she simply lowered her head with obedience and took a step back from the looking glass. The sun had sunk behind the city walls, and the room was now buried in a dim, eerie glow.
✦
The path down to the castle had passed her eyes and left her memory by the time they reached the gates. Around her, a small retinue consisting of half a dozen guards donning silver armour with the sigil of House Taivell clinked and stomped their way through the wide corridors, obstructing a good portion of her view of the keep’s halls. Even in the silence of the night, she could no longer hear waves crashing against the rocky cliffs of the capital, nor the birds that often trilled at the windows of her own chamber; the castle was drowned in utter stillness, which made the feeling of alienation all the more unnerving.
No words had been spoken to her before the armoured faces guarding the Prince’s door gestured for her to step inside. Through the narrow cuts in the guards’ helmets, she could see that their eyes avoided hers, gazing emptily forward, as if they had been charged with delivering a package rather than a living, breathing woman. Perhaps, in other circumstances, she would have been bothered by the silence, but in that moment, there was nothing that she craved more.
Curled on the brisk sheets of the Prince’s bed, her eyes flickered around the apartment in an attempt to fill her mind with a royally golden sight before it was obstructed by yet another face whom she had been paid to please.
“A gift awaits you in your chambers, Your Grace, should you wish to retire early.”
Blinking owlishly, Luka glanced up from the methodical unraveling of his shirtsleeve, gazing around because he couldn’t remember what he was doing in the courtyard. Half of the day had spread apart in his mind like a flock of crows, disappearing into a fading, distant oblivion.
Lord Ashdew’s simpering smile greeted him, his grey eyes glinting at Luka like knife points in the full-fledged gloaming. Since the announcement of Luka's engagement, every interaction with the lord felt like walking the edge of a precipice -- he never knew when he might slip and fall back into his bad graces.
“Ah.” The prince nodded, recalling the aforementioned whore. He frowned at his hands, spotting ink stains on his fingers. What documents had he signed today? Charters? Compacts? Treaties?
“Yes,” he continued, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”
The lord inclined his head, displaying salt-and-pepper hair with a sycophantic bow.
Managing a half-hearted grin, Luka rose from his bench and strode to his bedroom, longing for feather down pillows and a bottle of wine.
✦
The soon-to-be king of Viria stared down his chamber door, glaring daggers at the finely-carved oak. For a moment, all the future regent did was frown at the chiseled wood, a wrinkle in his brow deepening, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Then he lifted a fist, hesitated, lowered it.
Then he shouldered open the door.
It smelled strangely of perfume, redolent of roses and freshly-washed silk. His visitor was already there, curled lazily on his mattress. His gaze swept inevitably along the sumptuous curves of her, getting caught at the pouty dip of her bottom lip and the cinnamon brown of her hair.
Luka gave a sharp, mirthless laugh, half-surprised she wasn’t ugly.
“Sorry.” He coughed. “You are very lovely,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “but no thank you.” A wave of his hand encouraged her to remain laying down, to continue her comfortable repose.
Seeing as it was evening and seeing as he was tired, the prince began undressing, unceremoniously kicking off his boots, shucking off his clothes, and pulling on his nightshirt.
Every one of his nightly intentions was mapped out in clear lines as he lay on the chaise at the end of the room, burrowing into the folds of the pillows. His weariness lay too bone-deep for him to care about who should sleep on his mattress, and he didn't complain, didn't beg for a side of the bed.
Still, Luka wriggled to get comfortable, forcing his eyelids to flutter closed. He felt his ribs expand in intentional breaths, in and out, in and out, but thoughts raced through his mind swift as warhorses, relentless and pounding.
He wrenched his eyes open, huffing a sigh out his nostrils. Resigned, he folded his hands over his stomach, daring one more glance at his guest before turning away. “Do men ever talk to you?” Luka asked the wooden rafters, swallowing back exhausted tears. “Just...talk?”
Only a brief second passed before he swore, sitting up and scrunching up his face as stars dashed across his vision.
“I forgot introductions,” he said breathlessly, punchily, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You know who I am, I presume, but I do not know you.
“Gods, where are my manners?” Weary and worn and wrung out to dry, the prince shambled over to a decanter, grabbing at glasses he filled with a deep scarlet wine.
Luka offered her a goblet, hoping to come off friendly, approachable, amiable. He hoped she wouldn't notice the faint tremor in his hand, hoped his winsome smile might distract her from it.
Last edited:
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
The Prince’s appearance was as glamorous as it was abrupt.
In her nest on the feather mattress, Edrei did not flinch to the sudden noise. Her eyes had been fixated on the door ever since arriving, and her ears perked for any movement that might announce the Prince’s arrival.
Luka Taivell’s name did not ring strange in her ears, but it was for the first time that she truly saw his face. It was not often that nobles presented themselves before the people without a flock of guards hustling and bustling about them like chained dogs. Still, she did not need to wonder whether the man who had breached the room was the heir to the throne of Viria – the pale cheeks sculpted high, burnishing curls and darkened eyes were enough to give away the troubled man sitting on a chair too tall for his age.
A soft smile played at the corner of her lips at his reaction; her eyes sparkled with interest and she cocked her brow just slightly, rolling on one side and then landing on her belly. Without a word yet escaping her lips, she watched as he lubberly got rid of his heavier garments and slipped into something more comfortable and considerably less impressive aesthetically than his embellished taffeta coat. It was not the first time she was watching men undress, yet the circumstances seemed ever so slightly different. Her gaze followed him as he churned and eventually sat back on a chair at the back of the room, as though afraid to sit on the bed by her side.
At his question, Edrei canted her head and felt her brows curl into a light frown, before she let herself fall on her back again. “My job is to please and fulfill your deepest desires,” she answered with an almost nonchalant shrug. “If conversationalists are your type, then I would be happy to open my mouth for that as well,” she offered him a playful smirk, her eyes narrowing with the movement of her cheeks. She reckoned it was for the first time that a man wanted her to do something as simple for their costly night together.
Soon enough, the Prince resumed his bustle, and Edrei was forced to roll on her side to follow him with her gaze. In the dim light, his silhouette moved like a blur, only highlighted around the edges, or where the ivory of his skin popped from behind the linen. Still, she could see the tension in his hand muscles as he extended the wine to her, his fingers seemingly so tight in their grip around the goblet that the polished silver threatened to bend. Edrei huffed and shook her head slightly, “I would rather you had that. I don’t drink.”
With that, she propped herself up and jumped on her feet, the silk falling in waves and folds over each of her curves with her movement. “I do know who you are,” she murmured as she drew closer to him, and gingerly let a finger graze his shoulder, then roll down his back and spine. “My name is Edrei. But tonight, we could be whoever we want... Not ever fretting nobles,” she continued, canting her head, “not worried souls... But anything we want to be.” The smirk on her lips did not falter, but only caught fire as she spoke to him, softer and softer, barely above the crackling of flames in the hearth.
She was unsure if her skills would impress a man like him; he had likely seen it all, and been with them all, that her earnest did not touch him. Through the stray locks that played before her eyes, she saw Laudine’s hands touching the Prince, not her own, and heard her mother’s voice luring him towards her, not her own. There was a slight joy in her heart at the anticipation of his refusal, and a wave of guilt pearling in the back of her mind, wondering if her looks had disappointed him.
“Or, of course, we may simply talk, as you said,” she shrugged again and fell back on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She frowned theatrically at the wall, tilting her head, before looking back to him. “But then... You might not get to witness my other talents... For which your Lord has greatly paid for.”
In her nest on the feather mattress, Edrei did not flinch to the sudden noise. Her eyes had been fixated on the door ever since arriving, and her ears perked for any movement that might announce the Prince’s arrival.
Luka Taivell’s name did not ring strange in her ears, but it was for the first time that she truly saw his face. It was not often that nobles presented themselves before the people without a flock of guards hustling and bustling about them like chained dogs. Still, she did not need to wonder whether the man who had breached the room was the heir to the throne of Viria – the pale cheeks sculpted high, burnishing curls and darkened eyes were enough to give away the troubled man sitting on a chair too tall for his age.
A soft smile played at the corner of her lips at his reaction; her eyes sparkled with interest and she cocked her brow just slightly, rolling on one side and then landing on her belly. Without a word yet escaping her lips, she watched as he lubberly got rid of his heavier garments and slipped into something more comfortable and considerably less impressive aesthetically than his embellished taffeta coat. It was not the first time she was watching men undress, yet the circumstances seemed ever so slightly different. Her gaze followed him as he churned and eventually sat back on a chair at the back of the room, as though afraid to sit on the bed by her side.
At his question, Edrei canted her head and felt her brows curl into a light frown, before she let herself fall on her back again. “My job is to please and fulfill your deepest desires,” she answered with an almost nonchalant shrug. “If conversationalists are your type, then I would be happy to open my mouth for that as well,” she offered him a playful smirk, her eyes narrowing with the movement of her cheeks. She reckoned it was for the first time that a man wanted her to do something as simple for their costly night together.
Soon enough, the Prince resumed his bustle, and Edrei was forced to roll on her side to follow him with her gaze. In the dim light, his silhouette moved like a blur, only highlighted around the edges, or where the ivory of his skin popped from behind the linen. Still, she could see the tension in his hand muscles as he extended the wine to her, his fingers seemingly so tight in their grip around the goblet that the polished silver threatened to bend. Edrei huffed and shook her head slightly, “I would rather you had that. I don’t drink.”
With that, she propped herself up and jumped on her feet, the silk falling in waves and folds over each of her curves with her movement. “I do know who you are,” she murmured as she drew closer to him, and gingerly let a finger graze his shoulder, then roll down his back and spine. “My name is Edrei. But tonight, we could be whoever we want... Not ever fretting nobles,” she continued, canting her head, “not worried souls... But anything we want to be.” The smirk on her lips did not falter, but only caught fire as she spoke to him, softer and softer, barely above the crackling of flames in the hearth.
She was unsure if her skills would impress a man like him; he had likely seen it all, and been with them all, that her earnest did not touch him. Through the stray locks that played before her eyes, she saw Laudine’s hands touching the Prince, not her own, and heard her mother’s voice luring him towards her, not her own. There was a slight joy in her heart at the anticipation of his refusal, and a wave of guilt pearling in the back of her mind, wondering if her looks had disappointed him.
“Or, of course, we may simply talk, as you said,” she shrugged again and fell back on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She frowned theatrically at the wall, tilting her head, before looking back to him. “But then... You might not get to witness my other talents... For which your Lord has greatly paid for.”
Luka’s smile fell as the woman denied his proffered cup of wine. The move wasn't insulting, exactly, just...entirely unexpected.
He wrinkled his nose, sniffing disdainfully as he set down her cup. Sour, he sipped daintily out of his own goblet till he remembered even finely-aged wine tasted remarkably like piss. Even wine was meant to be gulped.
“Edrei, hm?” Underneath his breath, Luka tested her name on his tongue, musing at the strange, musical sound of it. He supposed a lovely name for a lovely girl had a certain logic, but he'd have been far more comfortable with a 'Bertha' or an 'Agnes' stretching like a cat across his bed.
His cool musings didn't last long. Heat bloomed across his cheeks at her casually lewd language, at the suggestive tilt of her body. She was unapologetic in the intent of her motions, sinuous and sensual and deliberately enticing.
Inhaling sharply, Luka tilted his glass further back, imbibing a more generous amount of wine before hastily swallowing his mouthful, panicking as Edrei floated nearer.
Her touch was...electrifying. Luka shuddered at the featherlight fingertip slipping down his vertebrae, felt the ghost of it long after it left. His toes curled in his stockings, the tips of his ears reddened, and gooseprickles erupted over his skin at her soft, mellifluous purring.
Gods, she was good.
“Tonight it seems you’d be anyone but a temptress who never let her prince drink alone,” he quipped back -- sputtering as another quaffing of wine nearly choked him. Despite his tall frame and sturdy stature, Luka had a low tolerance for alcohol, and he'd barely eaten all day.
Soon the room took on a rosy haze, glowing with the golden warmth of the hearth and the pale moonlight spilling in from the windows.
Edrei, unfortunately, only grew more stunning.
Luka swallowed.
“I hope he paid you handsomely,” he continued, desperate to keep the subject far from Edrei’s 'other talents.' “There is a draft, you see,” he rapped on the windowpane, “and you, Edrei, are not dressed for such frigid conditions.”
It was a subtle suggestion for her to cover up. Between the scant folds of Edrei’s gown, every intimate curve revealed itself, tantalizingly smooth and silken.
It was all too much. A headache pounded like an anvil at the back of his eyes. He dug at it with two fingers kneading into his temples, but when that didn't work, he nursed his goblet and leaned back, cautiously glancing at Edrei.
“Who do you want to be, then?” he asked her, his sharp edges snagging on the subject of her previous cooing. Dreaming was all well and good for a prostitute, he supposed, but for a prince, well...
Luka sighed and took another purposeful drink.
He wrinkled his nose, sniffing disdainfully as he set down her cup. Sour, he sipped daintily out of his own goblet till he remembered even finely-aged wine tasted remarkably like piss. Even wine was meant to be gulped.
“Edrei, hm?” Underneath his breath, Luka tested her name on his tongue, musing at the strange, musical sound of it. He supposed a lovely name for a lovely girl had a certain logic, but he'd have been far more comfortable with a 'Bertha' or an 'Agnes' stretching like a cat across his bed.
His cool musings didn't last long. Heat bloomed across his cheeks at her casually lewd language, at the suggestive tilt of her body. She was unapologetic in the intent of her motions, sinuous and sensual and deliberately enticing.
Inhaling sharply, Luka tilted his glass further back, imbibing a more generous amount of wine before hastily swallowing his mouthful, panicking as Edrei floated nearer.
Her touch was...electrifying. Luka shuddered at the featherlight fingertip slipping down his vertebrae, felt the ghost of it long after it left. His toes curled in his stockings, the tips of his ears reddened, and gooseprickles erupted over his skin at her soft, mellifluous purring.
Gods, she was good.
“Tonight it seems you’d be anyone but a temptress who never let her prince drink alone,” he quipped back -- sputtering as another quaffing of wine nearly choked him. Despite his tall frame and sturdy stature, Luka had a low tolerance for alcohol, and he'd barely eaten all day.
Soon the room took on a rosy haze, glowing with the golden warmth of the hearth and the pale moonlight spilling in from the windows.
Edrei, unfortunately, only grew more stunning.
Luka swallowed.
“I hope he paid you handsomely,” he continued, desperate to keep the subject far from Edrei’s 'other talents.' “There is a draft, you see,” he rapped on the windowpane, “and you, Edrei, are not dressed for such frigid conditions.”
It was a subtle suggestion for her to cover up. Between the scant folds of Edrei’s gown, every intimate curve revealed itself, tantalizingly smooth and silken.
It was all too much. A headache pounded like an anvil at the back of his eyes. He dug at it with two fingers kneading into his temples, but when that didn't work, he nursed his goblet and leaned back, cautiously glancing at Edrei.
“Who do you want to be, then?” he asked her, his sharp edges snagging on the subject of her previous cooing. Dreaming was all well and good for a prostitute, he supposed, but for a prince, well...
Luka sighed and took another purposeful drink.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
It did not take much wondering and calculating for Edrei to understand that the Prince was parring her advances, even if his sight seemed to flicker and linger on some of her shapes and curves. And yet, a part of her was pleased to see him fluster at her touches, his cheeks losing their pallor and the muscles in his neck tensing beneath the skin. A sight she was used to, but had almost not expected from a man who had so quickly brushed her away.
The more more he dug into his goblet of wine, the more his voice changed, turning slighty mellow and more alert, which earned an amused simper that Edrei managed to stifle soon after. With a theatrical pout, she grabbed one of the thinner covers embellishing the bed and wrapped it around her chest, letting it drape over her hips and legs. The soft grey ermine tickled her skin through the thin fabric of her dress; it was far too warm for the Prince’s chambers, but she could do not but obey his wishes.
“He did pay,” she nodded, canting her head. “As most do, for my looks, although that’s not particularly where the weight of it resides.” As much as she resented her affairs, Eider was grateful that her mother had made sure to place a good price tag on her name, perhaps on the verge of plainly hyperbolic. At the very least, it preserved a fraction of her innocence and purity, for mere commoners were just as content with a cheap harlot for the night.
With a soft sigh escaping her lips, Edrei once again pushed herself up from the edge of the featherbed and floated behind the Prince. “Who do I want to be?” she murmured and bit her lip. One hand lowered over his own holding the goblet, discreetly gesturing for him to leave it on the side table. The other traced over his covered shoulder again, but rested there almost platonically as she tugged at it with gentle movements, drawing him back on the bed with her. “What do I want to be, rather,” she corrected as she pressed him down and fell by his side with a muffled thump. “I want to be loved...”
The last word played on her tongue just as sensually as any other, a line she had spoken so many times, it no longer rung as a lie in her ears. In essence, it was true, for all women lived to be loved, and all men longed to love a woman back. “But that is not what you wish to hear, is it? Are you not curious for more specific answers? Does royalty not bore you?”
There was a jocund innocence in her tone she paired with a flutter of her lashes. Cautiously, she lifted her hand again and brushed away a dark curl from his dampened temple, before resting on the side of his cheek.
For a moment, she did not feel the warmth of his flesh against hers; instead, she was met with a scourging cold, and felt its tendrils wrap around her own fingers and wrist. The light in the room, already dim, turned darker, hazy, as though she had buried her head beneath a shroud. Before her then, the Prince’s eyes fixated her, darkened as well, and atop his head rested a large golden crown, beneath which curled wet locks dripping in crimson. She saw cracked stones embedded into its side, glowing as red as blood.
The image, a vivid as stained glass, tarried before her for a moment, before vanishing like a faded cloud - his fell back over the silken pillows beneath his head and his cheeks reclaimed their state as the stains of scarlet withdrew into a faded bloom. Edrei gulped, trembling beneath the ermine cover, and quickly pulled herself away towards the other side of the bed. Her nostrils flared slightly at the newly found scent of roses that overshadowed the blood, and as the room regained its glow, she could feel the cold leave her limbs, replaced by the soft sensation of the sheets underneath her touch.
“Or perhaps you should enjoy your tedium,” she whispered. Edrei’s voice was coarse, touched by a languished shock. “You will die before you get to wear your crown.”
The more more he dug into his goblet of wine, the more his voice changed, turning slighty mellow and more alert, which earned an amused simper that Edrei managed to stifle soon after. With a theatrical pout, she grabbed one of the thinner covers embellishing the bed and wrapped it around her chest, letting it drape over her hips and legs. The soft grey ermine tickled her skin through the thin fabric of her dress; it was far too warm for the Prince’s chambers, but she could do not but obey his wishes.
“He did pay,” she nodded, canting her head. “As most do, for my looks, although that’s not particularly where the weight of it resides.” As much as she resented her affairs, Eider was grateful that her mother had made sure to place a good price tag on her name, perhaps on the verge of plainly hyperbolic. At the very least, it preserved a fraction of her innocence and purity, for mere commoners were just as content with a cheap harlot for the night.
With a soft sigh escaping her lips, Edrei once again pushed herself up from the edge of the featherbed and floated behind the Prince. “Who do I want to be?” she murmured and bit her lip. One hand lowered over his own holding the goblet, discreetly gesturing for him to leave it on the side table. The other traced over his covered shoulder again, but rested there almost platonically as she tugged at it with gentle movements, drawing him back on the bed with her. “What do I want to be, rather,” she corrected as she pressed him down and fell by his side with a muffled thump. “I want to be loved...”
The last word played on her tongue just as sensually as any other, a line she had spoken so many times, it no longer rung as a lie in her ears. In essence, it was true, for all women lived to be loved, and all men longed to love a woman back. “But that is not what you wish to hear, is it? Are you not curious for more specific answers? Does royalty not bore you?”
There was a jocund innocence in her tone she paired with a flutter of her lashes. Cautiously, she lifted her hand again and brushed away a dark curl from his dampened temple, before resting on the side of his cheek.
For a moment, she did not feel the warmth of his flesh against hers; instead, she was met with a scourging cold, and felt its tendrils wrap around her own fingers and wrist. The light in the room, already dim, turned darker, hazy, as though she had buried her head beneath a shroud. Before her then, the Prince’s eyes fixated her, darkened as well, and atop his head rested a large golden crown, beneath which curled wet locks dripping in crimson. She saw cracked stones embedded into its side, glowing as red as blood.
The image, a vivid as stained glass, tarried before her for a moment, before vanishing like a faded cloud - his fell back over the silken pillows beneath his head and his cheeks reclaimed their state as the stains of scarlet withdrew into a faded bloom. Edrei gulped, trembling beneath the ermine cover, and quickly pulled herself away towards the other side of the bed. Her nostrils flared slightly at the newly found scent of roses that overshadowed the blood, and as the room regained its glow, she could feel the cold leave her limbs, replaced by the soft sensation of the sheets underneath her touch.
“Or perhaps you should enjoy your tedium,” she whispered. Edrei’s voice was coarse, touched by a languished shock. “You will die before you get to wear your crown.”
'To be loved.'
Edrei’s wish felt stark in its simplicity, and the lie and truth of it rang between them loud and heavy, like church bells at dawn.
Luka blinked away tears as Edrei purred, filling the silence with warm thoughts and sweet nothings. All of it curled around him like fragrant smoke, heady and dizzying and stinging his eyes. He was almost relieved at her guiding hands easing the wine away from him. No doubt too much might make him maudlin and bleary-eyed.
She was gentle. Tender. He leaned into her touch, pushed and pulled by her tidal force.
“Edrei,” he begged as she led him to the bed, “no, I --”
But her touch was so soothing, with her fingertips combing through his hair, easing his headache, cooling his brow…
Very nearly resigned, he sighed into the hand on his cheek, waiting for her lips on his, or her fingers tugging at his shirt, but when she paused… when nothing happened…
Luka opened his eyes.
He almost gasped.
Edrei was pale, staring at him sightless and scared. Her fingers quivered against his clammy skin. Gone was the scarlet-lipped seductress, the temptress who had tamped down his refusal and coaxed out desire.
Gone, quick and quiet, like a candle snuffed out.
Luka swallowed, hard. His insides turned to ice.
'You will die before you get to wear your crown.' Her words tolled in the air between them like a funeral knell, her voice the creak of the wind in the branches.
Goosebumps trailed down his arms, a chill slipping down his spine.
“Pardon?” he whispered, but it was all pretense. He’d heard. Luka sat up, fingers balling into fists, something coiling tight in his chest, preparing to lash out, to strike. His heart toyed with amusement, offense, and anger, juggling them like knives.
But then realization dawned on him, brilliant as sunrise over the sea. Whether or not he believed her -- whether he believed her ominous prediction -- there was one incontrovertible fact that stared him down, grabbed him by the collar, threw hot breath in his face.
Edrei was scared. Terrified.
And the prince didn’t think she was acting.
“Edrei?” Luka asked into the quiet, feeling foolish when she moved away, when the absence of her proximity left him wanting. He gaped at her, jaw hanging loose. Shock draped her features, the rouge on her cheeks doing little to combat her pallor.
Something fiercer than fear gripped him then. It tickled in his veins, hauled him up on his feet, sent his concerns skittering to the dark recesses of his mind.
Luka turned back to Edrei. “I understand you do not prefer wine,” he began, “but would water suffice?” When her head bobbed a yes, he strode purposefully towards the door, opened it softly, murmured to a guard with a request for water.
Then the door clicked closed. Luka stared at her once more before scanning the room, searching its contents for diplomatic rules on how to receive a foreboding fortune-telling.
None appeared.
Sighing, Luka perched on the end of the bed. “So you foresee what is to come?” he asked gently, not believing it himself. However… He paused, biting his lower lip before continuing. “What did you see?” His hand reached up to his face, absentmindedly tracing the heat signatures her fingers had left behind. “Was it…when you touched me?”
Edrei’s wish felt stark in its simplicity, and the lie and truth of it rang between them loud and heavy, like church bells at dawn.
Luka blinked away tears as Edrei purred, filling the silence with warm thoughts and sweet nothings. All of it curled around him like fragrant smoke, heady and dizzying and stinging his eyes. He was almost relieved at her guiding hands easing the wine away from him. No doubt too much might make him maudlin and bleary-eyed.
She was gentle. Tender. He leaned into her touch, pushed and pulled by her tidal force.
“Edrei,” he begged as she led him to the bed, “no, I --”
But her touch was so soothing, with her fingertips combing through his hair, easing his headache, cooling his brow…
Very nearly resigned, he sighed into the hand on his cheek, waiting for her lips on his, or her fingers tugging at his shirt, but when she paused… when nothing happened…
Luka opened his eyes.
He almost gasped.
Edrei was pale, staring at him sightless and scared. Her fingers quivered against his clammy skin. Gone was the scarlet-lipped seductress, the temptress who had tamped down his refusal and coaxed out desire.
Gone, quick and quiet, like a candle snuffed out.
Luka swallowed, hard. His insides turned to ice.
'You will die before you get to wear your crown.' Her words tolled in the air between them like a funeral knell, her voice the creak of the wind in the branches.
Goosebumps trailed down his arms, a chill slipping down his spine.
“Pardon?” he whispered, but it was all pretense. He’d heard. Luka sat up, fingers balling into fists, something coiling tight in his chest, preparing to lash out, to strike. His heart toyed with amusement, offense, and anger, juggling them like knives.
But then realization dawned on him, brilliant as sunrise over the sea. Whether or not he believed her -- whether he believed her ominous prediction -- there was one incontrovertible fact that stared him down, grabbed him by the collar, threw hot breath in his face.
Edrei was scared. Terrified.
And the prince didn’t think she was acting.
“Edrei?” Luka asked into the quiet, feeling foolish when she moved away, when the absence of her proximity left him wanting. He gaped at her, jaw hanging loose. Shock draped her features, the rouge on her cheeks doing little to combat her pallor.
Something fiercer than fear gripped him then. It tickled in his veins, hauled him up on his feet, sent his concerns skittering to the dark recesses of his mind.
Luka turned back to Edrei. “I understand you do not prefer wine,” he began, “but would water suffice?” When her head bobbed a yes, he strode purposefully towards the door, opened it softly, murmured to a guard with a request for water.
Then the door clicked closed. Luka stared at her once more before scanning the room, searching its contents for diplomatic rules on how to receive a foreboding fortune-telling.
None appeared.
Sighing, Luka perched on the end of the bed. “So you foresee what is to come?” he asked gently, not believing it himself. However… He paused, biting his lower lip before continuing. “What did you see?” His hand reached up to his face, absentmindedly tracing the heat signatures her fingers had left behind. “Was it…when you touched me?”
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
There was no going back, or hope to repair the moment. If the Prince had refused her advances in the beginning, it would be foolish of her to think any other would erase the newly built tension following her words. She knew it from the way he looked at her in utter confusion, fighting to make sense of what he had just heard. The slight redness that the wine had breathed into him had been replaced by his natural pallor, only intensified as he watched her in almost disbelief.
She did not answer his calling. Edrei’s eyes lowered to the sheets beneath her; she did not wish to look upon his face, for now when she did, the gruesome image of his almost lifeless body was painted all over his features. The tremor still resided within her, shuddering with each beat of her heart and almost hitting the bone of her chest like a hammer. It was as painful to swallow as it was to think. It was not often that any visions materialized themselves as vivid as a dream, nevertheless life itself.
A question came, an offer of alcohol which, in that moment, no longer sounded as repulsive. And yet, Edrei still shook her head and lifted a hand to gesture a polite refusal of the wine. “Water,” accepted the latter, not because she was thirsty, but because she hoped it would drown the lump in her throat and ease some of the dread that seemed to boil her blood. The request was met rather quickly, and Eider’s eyes flickered to the Prince for a moment, watching him whisper something to the guard before stepping back into the room.
Edrei perked up just slightly at his other words, and she forced herself so sit straighter on the edge of the bed. “It was what Lord Ashdew paid for, isn’t it? Not only a bland whore...,” but something a bit more entertaining. “He doesn’t believe in it. He did not believe my mother when she told him... Laughed in her face.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I thought you would do so too.”
Whether it was the wine or something else, Edrei was frankly surprised that the man had listened to her. That he had not brushed her off as mad and forced her clothes off regardless. Now, even if he did, she doubted she had it within herself to obey.
“I saw you painted before me,” she explained further, now looking away from him in an effort to bring the image back to her mind, “pale and bleeding from the rim of a crown far too large for your head.” It was vivid, whilst also shrouded in darkness. Cold, if such could ever describe a vision. Frozen not only in time, but in existence. “You were neither dead nor alive. Just looking at me... Waiting.”
A quiet creak announced that the water had been brought, and a small servant stepped in, bashfully holding a tray with lemon water in her hands. She quickly placed it on the table by the window and scurried off, shutting the door behind her. Edrei stood up and began pacing towards the glass, despite the numbness in her limbs.
She then lifted her gaze back to him, now empty. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked, and deep inside, it was the last thing she wished for. Raella would be waiting for her later that night or in the morning, and Edrei could barely contain the desire to curl in her mother’s arms and seek the answers that would ease some of the horrors of that evening.
She did not answer his calling. Edrei’s eyes lowered to the sheets beneath her; she did not wish to look upon his face, for now when she did, the gruesome image of his almost lifeless body was painted all over his features. The tremor still resided within her, shuddering with each beat of her heart and almost hitting the bone of her chest like a hammer. It was as painful to swallow as it was to think. It was not often that any visions materialized themselves as vivid as a dream, nevertheless life itself.
A question came, an offer of alcohol which, in that moment, no longer sounded as repulsive. And yet, Edrei still shook her head and lifted a hand to gesture a polite refusal of the wine. “Water,” accepted the latter, not because she was thirsty, but because she hoped it would drown the lump in her throat and ease some of the dread that seemed to boil her blood. The request was met rather quickly, and Eider’s eyes flickered to the Prince for a moment, watching him whisper something to the guard before stepping back into the room.
Edrei perked up just slightly at his other words, and she forced herself so sit straighter on the edge of the bed. “It was what Lord Ashdew paid for, isn’t it? Not only a bland whore...,” but something a bit more entertaining. “He doesn’t believe in it. He did not believe my mother when she told him... Laughed in her face.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I thought you would do so too.”
Whether it was the wine or something else, Edrei was frankly surprised that the man had listened to her. That he had not brushed her off as mad and forced her clothes off regardless. Now, even if he did, she doubted she had it within herself to obey.
“I saw you painted before me,” she explained further, now looking away from him in an effort to bring the image back to her mind, “pale and bleeding from the rim of a crown far too large for your head.” It was vivid, whilst also shrouded in darkness. Cold, if such could ever describe a vision. Frozen not only in time, but in existence. “You were neither dead nor alive. Just looking at me... Waiting.”
A quiet creak announced that the water had been brought, and a small servant stepped in, bashfully holding a tray with lemon water in her hands. She quickly placed it on the table by the window and scurried off, shutting the door behind her. Edrei stood up and began pacing towards the glass, despite the numbness in her limbs.
She then lifted her gaze back to him, now empty. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked, and deep inside, it was the last thing she wished for. Raella would be waiting for her later that night or in the morning, and Edrei could barely contain the desire to curl in her mother’s arms and seek the answers that would ease some of the horrors of that evening.
Even when Luka uttered her name, Edrei’s eyes slid over him, her focus transformed from half-lidded and burning to distant and cold. Courage sat alone and friendless in the rigid line of her spine, in the tight angle of her jaw, in the tension of her neck as she twisted to look at him.
And the silence, before she spoke, was sepulchral.
While Edrei explained, Luka walked to the window and spread his palms on the sill, letting the silvery moonlight bathe him pale and cadaverous. His sight traced the sinewy bones of his fingers, the blue veins of his hands bloated with blood.
When her words trickled away, the prince rose, blinking and bloodless. Slowly, he let his attention fall upon back her -- and a renewed surge of heat thrummed beneath his skin. Edrei looked so small, and so scared, and even in her seduction, she wasn’t sycophantic. He longed to help her and --
Epiphany gripped him sternly by the shoulders. She’d been so subtle with it, yet that’d been the nearly irresistible charm, the unyielding compulsion that had his knees weak and his pulse racing. Not once had he heard an honorific from those cherry-red lips, no false subservience that might turn his stomach.
Instead, Edrei had offered something far more tempting -- escape.
And he’d almost accepted.
Realizing he was staring, Luka firmly shook his head, flinging the sticky, spider silk threads of desire away from him.
“That is...quite a thing to envision,” he said musingly, scuffing at his chin with his knuckles, swiping clammy hands on his nightshirt. "I..."
But then, with a groan of door hinges, the water arrived. Luka sidestepped the servant, gave Edrei a wide berth for her refreshment, and retreated to the hearth fire.
Still, it was his turn to speak. He ignored her comment regarding Lord Ashdew’s motivations, sweeping the uncomfortable subject under the rug before doggedly moving the conversation forward.
Luka cleared his throat. “You are asking to leave?” he coaxed gently, parsing out her meaning with soft consonants and hushed vowels. Ever so cautiously, he stepped forward and reached for her hand, aching to still the trembling he’d caught in the corner of his eye, seeking comfort in providing solace. His fingertips glanced hers and --
Edrei flinched, or perhaps he had.
His breath caught.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Heart pounding in his ears, Luka drew back, retreating once more to the orange glow of the fire.
“If it is all the same to you,” he began, a bit breathlessly, “I would like to sleep off my grief without someone tugging at my breeches.” His eyes danced in mock accusation. “And I would like you to enjoy the rest of your evening as you wish.”
A deep breath in, a deep breath out, and Luka had formulated a plan.
“Lord Ashdew is not an immoderate man, you understand,” he said, folding his arms to ward off the chill. “It would be highly inappropriate for me to scorn his...gift.” He grimaced, shrugging at her in silent apology. “And, unless your opinion of him is much kinder than mine, I doubt you want him on your doorstep tomorrow to demand recompense for any unfulfilled time.”
Mincing his careful way back over to her, Luka resolutely dug his hands further into the crooks of his arms. “I would like to escort you out -- if it please you, my lady. I am afraid if you leave here alone, the…” He paused, painstakingly selecting the words, “...implications might negatively impact your business -- as well as negate my reasoning in accepting you to my chambers in the first place.”
Murmuring to himself, Luka spun away, throwing open a wardrobe. He dug through the closet and produced two sumptuous robes -- the first of velvet black, and the second of Taivell red, elaborately made with cloth of gold stitched into the sleeves, hem, and hood.
“A gift,” he said, laying it like a lover on the bed. “For the exquisite night of ecstasy you’ll be rumored to have given me.” Once more he contemplated her attire, cocking a dark eyebrow. “I expect you were not received kindly in your silken raiment. Perhaps I can help?" He gestured to the red garment basking in the warmth of the fire, its gold thread gleaming in the glow.
“Are we agreed?” he asked. Luka graced her with a half-brave, half-desperate smile, his disinclination to order her around reducing any confidence he might have had to a small, determined hope.
And the silence, before she spoke, was sepulchral.
While Edrei explained, Luka walked to the window and spread his palms on the sill, letting the silvery moonlight bathe him pale and cadaverous. His sight traced the sinewy bones of his fingers, the blue veins of his hands bloated with blood.
When her words trickled away, the prince rose, blinking and bloodless. Slowly, he let his attention fall upon back her -- and a renewed surge of heat thrummed beneath his skin. Edrei looked so small, and so scared, and even in her seduction, she wasn’t sycophantic. He longed to help her and --
Epiphany gripped him sternly by the shoulders. She’d been so subtle with it, yet that’d been the nearly irresistible charm, the unyielding compulsion that had his knees weak and his pulse racing. Not once had he heard an honorific from those cherry-red lips, no false subservience that might turn his stomach.
Instead, Edrei had offered something far more tempting -- escape.
And he’d almost accepted.
Realizing he was staring, Luka firmly shook his head, flinging the sticky, spider silk threads of desire away from him.
“That is...quite a thing to envision,” he said musingly, scuffing at his chin with his knuckles, swiping clammy hands on his nightshirt. "I..."
But then, with a groan of door hinges, the water arrived. Luka sidestepped the servant, gave Edrei a wide berth for her refreshment, and retreated to the hearth fire.
Still, it was his turn to speak. He ignored her comment regarding Lord Ashdew’s motivations, sweeping the uncomfortable subject under the rug before doggedly moving the conversation forward.
Luka cleared his throat. “You are asking to leave?” he coaxed gently, parsing out her meaning with soft consonants and hushed vowels. Ever so cautiously, he stepped forward and reached for her hand, aching to still the trembling he’d caught in the corner of his eye, seeking comfort in providing solace. His fingertips glanced hers and --
Edrei flinched, or perhaps he had.
His breath caught.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Heart pounding in his ears, Luka drew back, retreating once more to the orange glow of the fire.
“If it is all the same to you,” he began, a bit breathlessly, “I would like to sleep off my grief without someone tugging at my breeches.” His eyes danced in mock accusation. “And I would like you to enjoy the rest of your evening as you wish.”
A deep breath in, a deep breath out, and Luka had formulated a plan.
“Lord Ashdew is not an immoderate man, you understand,” he said, folding his arms to ward off the chill. “It would be highly inappropriate for me to scorn his...gift.” He grimaced, shrugging at her in silent apology. “And, unless your opinion of him is much kinder than mine, I doubt you want him on your doorstep tomorrow to demand recompense for any unfulfilled time.”
Mincing his careful way back over to her, Luka resolutely dug his hands further into the crooks of his arms. “I would like to escort you out -- if it please you, my lady. I am afraid if you leave here alone, the…” He paused, painstakingly selecting the words, “...implications might negatively impact your business -- as well as negate my reasoning in accepting you to my chambers in the first place.”
Murmuring to himself, Luka spun away, throwing open a wardrobe. He dug through the closet and produced two sumptuous robes -- the first of velvet black, and the second of Taivell red, elaborately made with cloth of gold stitched into the sleeves, hem, and hood.
“A gift,” he said, laying it like a lover on the bed. “For the exquisite night of ecstasy you’ll be rumored to have given me.” Once more he contemplated her attire, cocking a dark eyebrow. “I expect you were not received kindly in your silken raiment. Perhaps I can help?" He gestured to the red garment basking in the warmth of the fire, its gold thread gleaming in the glow.
“Are we agreed?” he asked. Luka graced her with a half-brave, half-desperate smile, his disinclination to order her around reducing any confidence he might have had to a small, determined hope.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
Water barely seemed to bring any relief to the pain that had built up in Edrei’s throat. She did not look at him as she sipped, but let her gaze rest on the intricate details that rimmed the table by the window.
He had read her words correctly, or perhaps the look etched on her face had given it away. Regardless, hearing him say it instead of clarifying it herself soothed her ever so slightly and took some of the weight encumbering her shoulders. His voice was soft, never accusatory, a tone she had not expected from a man who had so bluntly denied her attempts at seducing him earlier that evening.
“Then I will do as it pleases you, my Prince,” Edrei said emptily and, after one lost last gulp, placed the glass of water back on the tray. She straightened her back and twirled on her heels, her movements still far from steady, when she felt a warm touch on the back of her hand. Immediately, Edrei flinched away in a deafened fear, but stopped right before her fingertips could leave the Prince’s grip and relaxed with a soft breath.
She waited. No vision took over her sight again, no vivid augury of his death, which only relieved her more. Repainting the scene in her mind was the last thing she wish to endure that night. Her ears pounded with her own heartbeat, and as she moved away from him, she forced herself to look into the fire in a naive attempt to block the shroud of darkness from taking over once again.
A dry chuckle escaped her lips at the mention of Lord Ashdew, and she cocked her brow slightly. “He sounded like a man of honor,” Eider shrugged. “Someone who would do everything within his power to avoid being seen anywhere close to a brothel. He came to pick me himself and I doubt he would want to pay my mother another visit for such an insignificant sum.”
The last statement was spoken bitterly; Edrei knew that the Lords and nobles with ties to the Crown did not have any lingering desires that they could not afford to fulfill. Such a payment may have been too much for a whore, but meaningless to a man like Ashdew. So long as she had presented herself before the Prince and done her job of offering her services...
The Prince’s following words caused Edrei to raise her brow even higher, mostly because of his choice to address her as lady. “I am sure none would expect a royal escort for a harlot,” she said as she came closer to the bed. “It might be early... But each with their own stamina.” It was not a blow at his person, given with his previous derisive teases, and Edrei painted a faint simper in the corner of her lips, which only lasted for a mere moment. She watched as the man took out pretentious robes from the tall wardrobe on the other side of the room and spread them over the mattress, as though to show off the elaborate detailing embellishing the sleeves and laces.
Between the two, the one dyed in a Taivell red stuck out the most, which ensured it would be just as easily observed by other possible witnesses. Edrei canted her head and bent to graze over the fabric with her fingertips, and she looked up to the Prince in slight disbelief. “You would give me this,” she murmured, “only to protect my reputation? You would help me after I foresaw your death?”
She gently pulled it up to look at it, before twirling once again on the tips of her toes and beginning to untie the laces keeping her thin silk dress together. As it dropped on the floor, Edrei glanced back at him over her nude shoulder and nodded, “Agreed.” Then, she slipped into the red robe and began adjusting it over her curves. It was a loose fit, but the weight of it added to the sumptuous feeling of the fabric, and frankly, Edrei was happy for the added coverage.
Once she was finished, she turned back towards him and made an effort to regain her poise. Some of the tremor had faded, partly masked and partly diminished by the thought of being allowed to leave the place where it all had happened. “A guard can escort me just fine,” she reassured; no matter how handsome the Prince might be - to her, those eyes were as sparkling as they were menacing in that moment. She only wanted to clear her memory of the sight of him in her vision, and a nightly stroll might provide.
He had read her words correctly, or perhaps the look etched on her face had given it away. Regardless, hearing him say it instead of clarifying it herself soothed her ever so slightly and took some of the weight encumbering her shoulders. His voice was soft, never accusatory, a tone she had not expected from a man who had so bluntly denied her attempts at seducing him earlier that evening.
“Then I will do as it pleases you, my Prince,” Edrei said emptily and, after one lost last gulp, placed the glass of water back on the tray. She straightened her back and twirled on her heels, her movements still far from steady, when she felt a warm touch on the back of her hand. Immediately, Edrei flinched away in a deafened fear, but stopped right before her fingertips could leave the Prince’s grip and relaxed with a soft breath.
She waited. No vision took over her sight again, no vivid augury of his death, which only relieved her more. Repainting the scene in her mind was the last thing she wish to endure that night. Her ears pounded with her own heartbeat, and as she moved away from him, she forced herself to look into the fire in a naive attempt to block the shroud of darkness from taking over once again.
A dry chuckle escaped her lips at the mention of Lord Ashdew, and she cocked her brow slightly. “He sounded like a man of honor,” Eider shrugged. “Someone who would do everything within his power to avoid being seen anywhere close to a brothel. He came to pick me himself and I doubt he would want to pay my mother another visit for such an insignificant sum.”
The last statement was spoken bitterly; Edrei knew that the Lords and nobles with ties to the Crown did not have any lingering desires that they could not afford to fulfill. Such a payment may have been too much for a whore, but meaningless to a man like Ashdew. So long as she had presented herself before the Prince and done her job of offering her services...
The Prince’s following words caused Edrei to raise her brow even higher, mostly because of his choice to address her as lady. “I am sure none would expect a royal escort for a harlot,” she said as she came closer to the bed. “It might be early... But each with their own stamina.” It was not a blow at his person, given with his previous derisive teases, and Edrei painted a faint simper in the corner of her lips, which only lasted for a mere moment. She watched as the man took out pretentious robes from the tall wardrobe on the other side of the room and spread them over the mattress, as though to show off the elaborate detailing embellishing the sleeves and laces.
Between the two, the one dyed in a Taivell red stuck out the most, which ensured it would be just as easily observed by other possible witnesses. Edrei canted her head and bent to graze over the fabric with her fingertips, and she looked up to the Prince in slight disbelief. “You would give me this,” she murmured, “only to protect my reputation? You would help me after I foresaw your death?”
She gently pulled it up to look at it, before twirling once again on the tips of her toes and beginning to untie the laces keeping her thin silk dress together. As it dropped on the floor, Edrei glanced back at him over her nude shoulder and nodded, “Agreed.” Then, she slipped into the red robe and began adjusting it over her curves. It was a loose fit, but the weight of it added to the sumptuous feeling of the fabric, and frankly, Edrei was happy for the added coverage.
Once she was finished, she turned back towards him and made an effort to regain her poise. Some of the tremor had faded, partly masked and partly diminished by the thought of being allowed to leave the place where it all had happened. “A guard can escort me just fine,” she reassured; no matter how handsome the Prince might be - to her, those eyes were as sparkling as they were menacing in that moment. She only wanted to clear her memory of the sight of him in her vision, and a nightly stroll might provide.
Edrei had tired of him, that was clear. Luka blinked, stunned in the garish shine of her impudence. Her deadpan ‘my Prince’ fooled neither one of them, and her comment insinuating his...stamina rankled more than he cared to admit.
Not only that, she none-so-gently declined his offer of a royal escort. Even his graciously gifted robe only elicited confusion from her. Edrei murmured a disbelieving (if not logical) string of questions that challenged his indulgent moment of self-congratulatory magnanimity.
Then, she disrobed.
“Edrei!” Luka gasped, backing up as if her abandoned silks had turned into snakes. “I --”
But, as already typical in their few interactions, she refused to listen to him.
Smoldering, Luka crossed his arms, a scowl doing little to allay the furious blush that flooded his cheeks. That shapely pillar of pink flesh only flamed his flickering desire for her, threatening to build it to an inferno. His gaze flitted across the room like a fickle little butterfly, lighting everywhere but below the swoop of her shoulders.
Deciding not to trust his voice, Luka only nodded at her insistence, sliding open the door so she could saunter from his chamber.
The prince avoided the guards’ gazes before he sighed, shook his head, and slammed the door shut.
They found a body crumpled at the bottom of the eastern tower on the morning of Prince Luken’s coronation. It belonged to Gregory, a glassy-eyed night watch guard who had allegedly tumbled to his death.
It was the first news Luka heard as he woke, bleary-eyed, into the blood red dawn. A fine mist hovered at the edge of the windowsill, curious and curling. Inside though, the air was quiet, the stillness of uncertainty choking the breath in Luka’s lungs.
No one took much time for investigation. Everyone agreed Gregory had been drunk. Careless. Stupid. Anecdotes of his foolish antics circled about the castle like wildfire, catching flame in the hopeful hearts of servants. Gregory had climbed a tree in a thunderstorm. He’d had a weakness for wine. His balance had always suffered in the dark.
But Luka suspected it convinced no one as much as they pretended it did. He certainly wasn’t convinced. His kingsguard trotted at his heels, armed to the teeth. It felt an ill omen, the sight of the prince roaming around to address last minute diplomatic matters while his guards wore gauntlets and stone-cold grimaces.
As the morning dragged on, there was one final affair to attend to — donning proper attire for the wedding and coronation. But restlessness ached in his bones, thrumming along his veins to the tune of a whore’s prophecies, and knew he couldn’t stand still.
Tradition claimed it was bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the ceremony. Crouching in a nearby corridor, Luka had to wait until any passersby had scattered before he approached the Cairns' waiting room. With only a smidgeon of trepidation, he knocked and announce his presence, speaking with a voice he hoped held steady.
Not only that, she none-so-gently declined his offer of a royal escort. Even his graciously gifted robe only elicited confusion from her. Edrei murmured a disbelieving (if not logical) string of questions that challenged his indulgent moment of self-congratulatory magnanimity.
Then, she disrobed.
“Edrei!” Luka gasped, backing up as if her abandoned silks had turned into snakes. “I --”
But, as already typical in their few interactions, she refused to listen to him.
Smoldering, Luka crossed his arms, a scowl doing little to allay the furious blush that flooded his cheeks. That shapely pillar of pink flesh only flamed his flickering desire for her, threatening to build it to an inferno. His gaze flitted across the room like a fickle little butterfly, lighting everywhere but below the swoop of her shoulders.
Deciding not to trust his voice, Luka only nodded at her insistence, sliding open the door so she could saunter from his chamber.
The prince avoided the guards’ gazes before he sighed, shook his head, and slammed the door shut.
+++
They found a body crumpled at the bottom of the eastern tower on the morning of Prince Luken’s coronation. It belonged to Gregory, a glassy-eyed night watch guard who had allegedly tumbled to his death.
It was the first news Luka heard as he woke, bleary-eyed, into the blood red dawn. A fine mist hovered at the edge of the windowsill, curious and curling. Inside though, the air was quiet, the stillness of uncertainty choking the breath in Luka’s lungs.
No one took much time for investigation. Everyone agreed Gregory had been drunk. Careless. Stupid. Anecdotes of his foolish antics circled about the castle like wildfire, catching flame in the hopeful hearts of servants. Gregory had climbed a tree in a thunderstorm. He’d had a weakness for wine. His balance had always suffered in the dark.
But Luka suspected it convinced no one as much as they pretended it did. He certainly wasn’t convinced. His kingsguard trotted at his heels, armed to the teeth. It felt an ill omen, the sight of the prince roaming around to address last minute diplomatic matters while his guards wore gauntlets and stone-cold grimaces.
As the morning dragged on, there was one final affair to attend to — donning proper attire for the wedding and coronation. But restlessness ached in his bones, thrumming along his veins to the tune of a whore’s prophecies, and knew he couldn’t stand still.
Tradition claimed it was bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the ceremony. Crouching in a nearby corridor, Luka had to wait until any passersby had scattered before he approached the Cairns' waiting room. With only a smidgeon of trepidation, he knocked and announce his presence, speaking with a voice he hoped held steady.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
“What did you see?”
Raella’s voice rung gentle, but stern, in a way that almost urged the words out of Edrei’s mouth. She felt her mother’s warm hand on her shoulder, tickling the soft skin of her nape, and for a moment, she wondered if it was a tactic she had used on her clients in her youth. The thought sickened her, just as her duty from that night had stirred everything but joy.
It was, by now, a thought long forgotten. Strangely enough, her own wellbeing no longer concerned her. Instead, her mind was filled with tumultuous waves of dread and fear, as though her vision had painted her own features beneath the golden crown instead of the Prince’s.
“Edrei, what did you see?
Edrei swallowed scarcely, and felt the knot in her throat ease some at the movement. “I saw death, mother,” the girl muttered. Sitting on the chair by the mirror, despite the lack of armrests, she felt enchained and sewn into her seat by her mother’s words. “I saw death, and darkness, all in a shroud which kept me entangled.”
“Are you sure that is what you saw?” Raella ceased her light pacing around the chair and stopped by Edrei’s side, her hand still cupping her shoulder. “Death is a terrible omen. It only comes so easily to the darkest of sibyls... But you are still pure, Edrei. Your mind could not have fashioned such terrors.”
The girl waited, fighting to keep her breaths even. Even then, after a couple turns of the clock, it was difficult for her to escape the painting that her mind projected before her eyes. When she blinked, she saw the scene in its entirety yet again, taking over her with the same harrowing turmoil. She sought a reason to deem it a contrivance of her mind, but could find nothing more than pure incertitude.
“I do not know,” she concluded, and shook her head in the mirror. The rest of her body remained still, almost frozen beneath Raella’s touch. “But I saw blood, mother... I saw emptiness looking back at me.” And, oddly enough, the same eerie emptiness showed itself in her own reflection as she spoke. A sort of bewildered helplessness which she, herself, could not scratch off of her features. Raella nodded, and leaned in just slightly, letting her dark locks play over Edrei’s cheeks.
“Yes,” she answered Edrei’s unspoken question. She sketched a grievous smile at the corner of her lips and canted her head. “We see what we know how to comprehend. What is death to you Edrei? Is it not the loss of one’s identity? Of one’s purpose of existence in the world?” It had been years since they had seen the world outside the walls of King’s Cliff, but between the two of them, the youngest would always suffer the most at the absence of latitude. “Sometimes, death does not resort to bodily harm... The Gods let you see the truth... Shrouded, but a truth nonetheless. It is up to you to pick it apart.”
“Tighter.”
The servant’s hands worked hastily at the Lady’s waist, her deft fingers fighting to pull at the laces until the rims of the bodice kissed. Lady Blythe let out a long suspiration and began to gently feel the corset for any empty space around her middle. When she found none, she turned to her servant with a haughty smile and offered her a nod of gratitude for her efforts.
“You are beautiful regardless, my Lady,” the woman offered as Blythe collocated herself better on the platform before the tall mirror.
“Your Grace,” she corrected jauntily. “You have seen the way the people of the Capital present themselves,” her gaze moved over her barely clothed shape. The embellished gown awaited eagerly draped over the edge of the bed, peeking from behind her hips. “Tall and slim. Nothing like they were back home. Like true little birds... Ever so delicate, and high in their trill, because they can barely breathe.”
The servants in the room let out timid chuckles. Blythe looked back over her shoulder and gave them all a playful smile, before turning back to the mirror. A knock on the door disturbed the delicate sound of fabric rustling in the servant’s hands, and one of the girls hurried over to unlock it at the sound of the Prince’s familiar voice. Blythe stiffened, and she excitedly gestured for the girl to only keep the door cracked.
“My Prince,” the woman replied, and peeked behind to the Lady getting herself dressed. “It is not... customary for the bride to be seen before the ceremony.”
“You can contain your enthusiasm, my Prince,” Blythe replied. Her cheeks were now florid and aglow, and she felt her heart beat wildly through the stiff corset. “I will be ready shortly. I advise you tend to your own person before our parents see us... distracted.”
Raella’s voice rung gentle, but stern, in a way that almost urged the words out of Edrei’s mouth. She felt her mother’s warm hand on her shoulder, tickling the soft skin of her nape, and for a moment, she wondered if it was a tactic she had used on her clients in her youth. The thought sickened her, just as her duty from that night had stirred everything but joy.
It was, by now, a thought long forgotten. Strangely enough, her own wellbeing no longer concerned her. Instead, her mind was filled with tumultuous waves of dread and fear, as though her vision had painted her own features beneath the golden crown instead of the Prince’s.
“Edrei, what did you see?
Edrei swallowed scarcely, and felt the knot in her throat ease some at the movement. “I saw death, mother,” the girl muttered. Sitting on the chair by the mirror, despite the lack of armrests, she felt enchained and sewn into her seat by her mother’s words. “I saw death, and darkness, all in a shroud which kept me entangled.”
“Are you sure that is what you saw?” Raella ceased her light pacing around the chair and stopped by Edrei’s side, her hand still cupping her shoulder. “Death is a terrible omen. It only comes so easily to the darkest of sibyls... But you are still pure, Edrei. Your mind could not have fashioned such terrors.”
The girl waited, fighting to keep her breaths even. Even then, after a couple turns of the clock, it was difficult for her to escape the painting that her mind projected before her eyes. When she blinked, she saw the scene in its entirety yet again, taking over her with the same harrowing turmoil. She sought a reason to deem it a contrivance of her mind, but could find nothing more than pure incertitude.
“I do not know,” she concluded, and shook her head in the mirror. The rest of her body remained still, almost frozen beneath Raella’s touch. “But I saw blood, mother... I saw emptiness looking back at me.” And, oddly enough, the same eerie emptiness showed itself in her own reflection as she spoke. A sort of bewildered helplessness which she, herself, could not scratch off of her features. Raella nodded, and leaned in just slightly, letting her dark locks play over Edrei’s cheeks.
“Yes,” she answered Edrei’s unspoken question. She sketched a grievous smile at the corner of her lips and canted her head. “We see what we know how to comprehend. What is death to you Edrei? Is it not the loss of one’s identity? Of one’s purpose of existence in the world?” It had been years since they had seen the world outside the walls of King’s Cliff, but between the two of them, the youngest would always suffer the most at the absence of latitude. “Sometimes, death does not resort to bodily harm... The Gods let you see the truth... Shrouded, but a truth nonetheless. It is up to you to pick it apart.”
✦
“Tighter.”
The servant’s hands worked hastily at the Lady’s waist, her deft fingers fighting to pull at the laces until the rims of the bodice kissed. Lady Blythe let out a long suspiration and began to gently feel the corset for any empty space around her middle. When she found none, she turned to her servant with a haughty smile and offered her a nod of gratitude for her efforts.
“You are beautiful regardless, my Lady,” the woman offered as Blythe collocated herself better on the platform before the tall mirror.
“Your Grace,” she corrected jauntily. “You have seen the way the people of the Capital present themselves,” her gaze moved over her barely clothed shape. The embellished gown awaited eagerly draped over the edge of the bed, peeking from behind her hips. “Tall and slim. Nothing like they were back home. Like true little birds... Ever so delicate, and high in their trill, because they can barely breathe.”
The servants in the room let out timid chuckles. Blythe looked back over her shoulder and gave them all a playful smile, before turning back to the mirror. A knock on the door disturbed the delicate sound of fabric rustling in the servant’s hands, and one of the girls hurried over to unlock it at the sound of the Prince’s familiar voice. Blythe stiffened, and she excitedly gestured for the girl to only keep the door cracked.
“My Prince,” the woman replied, and peeked behind to the Lady getting herself dressed. “It is not... customary for the bride to be seen before the ceremony.”
“You can contain your enthusiasm, my Prince,” Blythe replied. Her cheeks were now florid and aglow, and she felt her heart beat wildly through the stiff corset. “I will be ready shortly. I advise you tend to your own person before our parents see us... distracted.”
A servant opened the door, peered through the crack.
Disappointment flooded Luka. ‘Enthusiasm’ wasn’t precisely the term he’d have used. Just to be certain, he took quick inventory: his insides were churning, his pulse thrumming, his head pounding.
No. He wasn’t enthusiastic.
He was terrified.
“Oh.” Luka said, stomach dropping like an anchor. “Yes. I know. I simply wanted to…”
The truth died in burning agony on his tongue. “...to ensure you weren’t having second thoughts.” He wrenched his voice into a jesting lilt at the end, an effort rewarded by the sound of handmaidens tittering.
A dismissal was a dismissal, however, no matter how sweetly it was delivered.
“Your wish is my command, my Queen,” Luka said dutifully, unable to quite keep the despondency from his tone as he bowed, winked, and gave the serving girl a crooked smile.
He turned away. The door clicked shut. Muffled laughter tinkled behind him.
Throat tightening, Luka stared into the empty corridor. Despite Blythe being right, he hadn’t wanted… He’d wanted…
Something in his chest clenched, tight, vice-like.
Then, slowly, he walked back towards his chambers.
Viols swelled, their sound crashing like cymbals in his ears.
Luka stood beautiful and brilliant in the late autumn sky, a golden statue against a blue background. Thousands of onlookers had gathered to witness the royal wedding and coronation, but it was the strings he heard, and the distant trill of a boy soprano in the nave.
The prince let his eyelids flutter closed, pushing down his rising dread with imagined visions of Blythe in her bride’s veil and dress.
She’d look gorgeous, fresh as a summer sky. Luka glanced down, grimacing at his own attire.
He looked like...a portrait.
Gold and red brocade swathed him in decadence, flowing from a raised collar to a draping cloak. His knee-high boots were polished, buckles gleaming. His raven black locks curled wildly about his ears, haloing his head better than a crown ever could.
It was lucky then, that a royal guard surrounded him from the veiled ladies watching.
Luka sighed, breathed out mist. His wedding would be performed first, a union long awaited by nobles and gentry alike.
Tradition had their first meeting outside the cathedral’s great double doors, waiting for their life’s companion in the rose-studded courtyard, autumn blossoms budding red and gold and purple.
Once Blythe arrived, he would take her hand, lead her up the marble stairs. There, in the presence of myriad nobles, the dowager Queen, and the high priest, he would be married.
Then made king.
Luka swallowed down his unsettled breakfast, wiped his sweaty palms on his soft leather breeches.
Desperate to see his bride, the prince squinted into the mid morning sun, hoping to glimpse her at least a moment before the rest of the world did.
Disappointment flooded Luka. ‘Enthusiasm’ wasn’t precisely the term he’d have used. Just to be certain, he took quick inventory: his insides were churning, his pulse thrumming, his head pounding.
No. He wasn’t enthusiastic.
He was terrified.
“Oh.” Luka said, stomach dropping like an anchor. “Yes. I know. I simply wanted to…”
The truth died in burning agony on his tongue. “...to ensure you weren’t having second thoughts.” He wrenched his voice into a jesting lilt at the end, an effort rewarded by the sound of handmaidens tittering.
A dismissal was a dismissal, however, no matter how sweetly it was delivered.
“Your wish is my command, my Queen,” Luka said dutifully, unable to quite keep the despondency from his tone as he bowed, winked, and gave the serving girl a crooked smile.
He turned away. The door clicked shut. Muffled laughter tinkled behind him.
Throat tightening, Luka stared into the empty corridor. Despite Blythe being right, he hadn’t wanted… He’d wanted…
Something in his chest clenched, tight, vice-like.
Then, slowly, he walked back towards his chambers.
✦
Viols swelled, their sound crashing like cymbals in his ears.
Luka stood beautiful and brilliant in the late autumn sky, a golden statue against a blue background. Thousands of onlookers had gathered to witness the royal wedding and coronation, but it was the strings he heard, and the distant trill of a boy soprano in the nave.
The prince let his eyelids flutter closed, pushing down his rising dread with imagined visions of Blythe in her bride’s veil and dress.
She’d look gorgeous, fresh as a summer sky. Luka glanced down, grimacing at his own attire.
He looked like...a portrait.
Gold and red brocade swathed him in decadence, flowing from a raised collar to a draping cloak. His knee-high boots were polished, buckles gleaming. His raven black locks curled wildly about his ears, haloing his head better than a crown ever could.
It was lucky then, that a royal guard surrounded him from the veiled ladies watching.
Luka sighed, breathed out mist. His wedding would be performed first, a union long awaited by nobles and gentry alike.
Tradition had their first meeting outside the cathedral’s great double doors, waiting for their life’s companion in the rose-studded courtyard, autumn blossoms budding red and gold and purple.
Once Blythe arrived, he would take her hand, lead her up the marble stairs. There, in the presence of myriad nobles, the dowager Queen, and the high priest, he would be married.
Then made king.
Luka swallowed down his unsettled breakfast, wiped his sweaty palms on his soft leather breeches.
Desperate to see his bride, the prince squinted into the mid morning sun, hoping to glimpse her at least a moment before the rest of the world did.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
Despite the often dark autumnal days that had chilled the Capital, Blythe was met with a warm ray of sunshine on her pale cheek as soon as she stepped out of her carriage.
She had been told King’s Cliff was a large city, home to thousands of commoners and nobles alike, but she had not been prepared quite for the sigh that greeted her in the square around the Chapel. She could not see past the tumultuous mass of people who had garthered to witness the coronation of their new King, and frankly, to her, it felt odd cheering for such a blessing which had rooted from a painful tragedy.
Buildings rose tall around them, and in comparison to the cities and towns up in the mountains of Viria, she felt surrounded and trapped, unable to run from her fate, but only expected to face it with her chin high. The one that stood out the most through its glorious grace was the Chapel – a massive building fashioned in a style akin to the castle, with hundreds of sculptures packing the walls and the pillars holding it up in the corners and around the wide doors. Each stained glass window glimmered in the sun, hypnotizingly blinding, but showcasing symbols and scenes fitting the history of Viria and, by extension, King’s Cliff.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” one of her ladies in waiting muttered behind her veil. It was customary in the North for the virgins accompanying their lady to each wear a sort of shroud akin to hers. “I wonder what it looks like inside.”
Standing haughtily on the marble platform before the Chapel was the man she was to tie the knot with that day, the man that her father had chosen for her, the man whom the crowds deemed too noble for a little bird of House Cairn. As glorious as he presented himself, in the gold and crimson of Taivell, Blythe did not doubt that he would love her one day, despite the words and rumours circulating the castle corridors and beyond. She did not know her father, but knew that Luka had been nothing like the image of him that the Kingdom had painted – he was sweet, kind, gentle. Perhaps not a good King, but what truly made one if not a man’s ability to listen to those pulling the strings behind him?
She knew he would listen to her; after all, the man was the head, but the woman as the neck which turned the head. She would see to it that Viria flourished during their reign, for it would be a shame if its beauty did not rise up to the standards of its rulers. A dream, nonetheless, but one she was driven to accomplish before she ought to close her eyes and reunite with her mother.
The arm she clutched to her side almost desperately belonged to her father. Lord Brion Cairn looked as noble as any other native of the castle, and it would only be fitting for a man of his pride that day. Blythe could see it in the way his chest heaved as he lead her up the short flight of marble steps, in the way his eyes sparkled, damp and tinted ever so slightly. He had not gotten the chance to hold her that day, and she had not been able to speak to him before being rushed through the gates of the keep and shipped to the Chapel in a carriage bearing the banners of House Taivell, the trilling bird of House Cairn and symbol of Viria.
“Before the eyes of the Gods, Prince Lukens Edwyrd of House Taivell has come to claim a wife, and a Queen.” The Priest’s voice reverberated from one wall to the other, and the Capital went silent, man and animal alike. “Who comes before him on this day?”
Lord Cairn swallowed, and Blythe could see the tension in his neck as he prepared himself to speak. She knew he had had a hard time remembering the Holy words, and for a moment, she was tempted to mutter them herself, before his voice echoed through the square to answer the Priest. “Lady Blythe of House Cairn,” the man nods. “May They honour this splice as they have that of land and sea, of man and beast, of stone and sky. I, Lord Brion of House Cairn, give my blessing.”
Blythe’s lids fluttered, and she felt her lips uncontrollably curl into a simper. She looked up to the Prince, in her ivory gown, and wondered if he saw the same beauty and purity her own gaze had landed on then. She eagerly let go of her father’s arm and allowed Luka to take hers; the crowd behind them cheered, but she could hear naught but her heart beating wildly, and could see naught but the pair of amber eyes looking back down at her.
She had been told King’s Cliff was a large city, home to thousands of commoners and nobles alike, but she had not been prepared quite for the sigh that greeted her in the square around the Chapel. She could not see past the tumultuous mass of people who had garthered to witness the coronation of their new King, and frankly, to her, it felt odd cheering for such a blessing which had rooted from a painful tragedy.
Buildings rose tall around them, and in comparison to the cities and towns up in the mountains of Viria, she felt surrounded and trapped, unable to run from her fate, but only expected to face it with her chin high. The one that stood out the most through its glorious grace was the Chapel – a massive building fashioned in a style akin to the castle, with hundreds of sculptures packing the walls and the pillars holding it up in the corners and around the wide doors. Each stained glass window glimmered in the sun, hypnotizingly blinding, but showcasing symbols and scenes fitting the history of Viria and, by extension, King’s Cliff.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” one of her ladies in waiting muttered behind her veil. It was customary in the North for the virgins accompanying their lady to each wear a sort of shroud akin to hers. “I wonder what it looks like inside.”
Standing haughtily on the marble platform before the Chapel was the man she was to tie the knot with that day, the man that her father had chosen for her, the man whom the crowds deemed too noble for a little bird of House Cairn. As glorious as he presented himself, in the gold and crimson of Taivell, Blythe did not doubt that he would love her one day, despite the words and rumours circulating the castle corridors and beyond. She did not know her father, but knew that Luka had been nothing like the image of him that the Kingdom had painted – he was sweet, kind, gentle. Perhaps not a good King, but what truly made one if not a man’s ability to listen to those pulling the strings behind him?
She knew he would listen to her; after all, the man was the head, but the woman as the neck which turned the head. She would see to it that Viria flourished during their reign, for it would be a shame if its beauty did not rise up to the standards of its rulers. A dream, nonetheless, but one she was driven to accomplish before she ought to close her eyes and reunite with her mother.
The arm she clutched to her side almost desperately belonged to her father. Lord Brion Cairn looked as noble as any other native of the castle, and it would only be fitting for a man of his pride that day. Blythe could see it in the way his chest heaved as he lead her up the short flight of marble steps, in the way his eyes sparkled, damp and tinted ever so slightly. He had not gotten the chance to hold her that day, and she had not been able to speak to him before being rushed through the gates of the keep and shipped to the Chapel in a carriage bearing the banners of House Taivell, the trilling bird of House Cairn and symbol of Viria.
“Before the eyes of the Gods, Prince Lukens Edwyrd of House Taivell has come to claim a wife, and a Queen.” The Priest’s voice reverberated from one wall to the other, and the Capital went silent, man and animal alike. “Who comes before him on this day?”
Lord Cairn swallowed, and Blythe could see the tension in his neck as he prepared himself to speak. She knew he had had a hard time remembering the Holy words, and for a moment, she was tempted to mutter them herself, before his voice echoed through the square to answer the Priest. “Lady Blythe of House Cairn,” the man nods. “May They honour this splice as they have that of land and sea, of man and beast, of stone and sky. I, Lord Brion of House Cairn, give my blessing.”
Blythe’s lids fluttered, and she felt her lips uncontrollably curl into a simper. She looked up to the Prince, in her ivory gown, and wondered if he saw the same beauty and purity her own gaze had landed on then. She eagerly let go of her father’s arm and allowed Luka to take hers; the crowd behind them cheered, but she could hear naught but her heart beating wildly, and could see naught but the pair of amber eyes looking back down at her.
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A gossamer curtain of white preceded his bride, a promise of shapely ivory gliding along the cobbles.
Blythe emerged shy and stunning, the dawning sun behind a tree. Her veiled hair captured the fiery light of morning, drank it down till it was aflame. Even beneath the sheer swathe of fabric, her ruddy cheeks and pale brow showed her to be beauty incarnate, a rapturous feast for the eyes.
Luka’s breath seized in his throat.
He blinked.
He smiled.
Blythe approached, floating towards him like a wayward cloud. Perhaps he was meant to bend down, whisper in her ear how magnificent, how breathtaking, how blithesome she looked.
But Luka found his tongue tied and heart fluttering, ardor and anxiety intertwining in his stomach like lovers, twisting up his insides.
The prince offered his arm. Blythe, smiling herself, took it.
Cheers erupted behind them, drowning the fear in his breast, choking the anxiety pulling at his ankles.
“Shall we?” he asked, guiding her forward. Her skin was silk beneath his calluses, soft as…
Luka paused. He blinked, phantom fingertips brushing his cheek. An icy finger slipped down his spine, sending him shivering. Luka, afraid Blythe might notice, glared at the wind swirling the leaves.
Then the double doors opened, hinges groaning as they swung wide and heavy.
Trepidation thumped his heart hard against his chest. Slowly, Luka led them into the cathedral’s inner shadows, arm in arm with his bride.
Something — no, someone — stopped their inexorable path.
“A word please, my prince,” said Lord Ashdew, approaching the monarch with dismay written bold across his face.
Swallowing, Luka released Blythe, giving her hand a meaningful squeeze.
“Not now.” He slid before her, hand resting on hilt. His palms were slick with sweat. “Later, perhaps.” Luka swallowed, swiped at the perspiration on his forehead.
Ashdew paled, gaze darting at Luka’s fingers. “My prince, it cannot wait. It is your mother.” He glanced around, eyes large. “She is…”
Luka’s mouth turned desert dry as his gaze followed Ashdew’s, scanning the dais, the seats, the standing crowd.
The queen regent was missing.
The violins screeched to a halt, their music dying in the rafters.
Luka nodded. “One moment, my bride.” Bowing, trembling, he bent down and pressed a featherlight kiss against the back of Blythe’s hand, giving her a winsome smile. “I will return.”
Amidst suffocating silence, Ashdew led the prince out of the cathedral, away towards the broad entryway of the castle. Luka faltered here and there, falling behind, coughing the dust from his throat, glancing back towards the bride he’d left at the altar.
Every time, Ashdew was there to bolster his strength, to help urge him on.
As they climbed the stairs to the queen’s bedchambers, Ashdew glanced at a choking Luka, managed a concerned double-take. “My prince, you don’t look well.”
Reluctant, Luka nodded, fever spotting his cheeks red. “Weight of the crown is all.”
Ashdew didn't look convinced. “Perhaps a rest and a drink of water?” He led the prince towards an abandoned sitting room, steered the monarch into a chair.
“Thank you,” Luka answered, hands shaking as he reclined on a chaise, swiping the damp strands from his forehead. His pulse rabbited in his neck, pounded at his skull.
Lord Ashdew left, closing the door behind him.
A click echoed into the still quiet. A small, gentle click.
Brows knitting, Luka bolted upright. Heart hammering, he shuffled to the door.
He tried the handle. Frowned. Tried it once more.
“Shit,” Luka murmured, horror spiking through him. Without further contemplation, he pounded on the wood, yelling and screaming for help.
He didn’t know how long he pleaded, how long he begged for help. His voice grew hoarse. His knuckles bruised.
But soon the sound of indistinct swearing slipped through the crack beneath the door, and Edwin Tarrin burst into the chamber, glowering into the dim and dusty shadows.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, looking his prince over. “Why aren’t you getting married?”
Luka shrugged, swallowing bile and terror. “I think…” He shook his head, struggled to gulp down a breath. “I think someone has poisoned me.”
Tarrin swore, tugging the prince by the arm and hauling him into a disused corridor, calling to one servant, then another.
Heart racing, thoughts rushing, Luka missed the details. Hallways writhed and twisted like snakes in his mind, running together in ways he knew he should recognize, but didn’t.
“Blythe,” he murmured, an irrational dread slurring his words. “The wedding…”
“Hang the wedding.” Tarrin huffed an irritated growl, stuffed a cloak into the prince’s arms, and shoved him forward.
Moments later, Luka was being rushed out of the castle, his cloak doing little to disguise his face or keep the bitter drafts from biting at his nose, from chilling his feverish skin.
The clank of armored boots on stone rang behind them, and Luka groaned without even glancing back.
“Go!” Tarrin yelled at the prince, unsheathing his sword. The bare steel winked in the midday sun. “GO!”
Feet slipping beneath him, Luka ducked through the next door, tripped down crumbling steps. Shadows danced at the corners of his eyes, swirling in sickening, writhing curls. He waited for the swing of a sword at his back, felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Yet nothing came. Nothing.
Gasping for air, Luka shouldered open the door at the end of the staircase, throwing his weight against it three times before it finally, finally gave.
The prince spilled into a bustling, sunlit street. The roadway was packed with peasants, food carts, curios and trinkets, stuffed to the brim with promise. Luka sighed, hope burgeoning in his stomach. Blinking, he searched the area, desperate for...
“Apothecary,” he breathed, chest burning, throat searing, but his voice wouldn’t come, the air gone from his lungs.
Chest heaving, the prince stumbled into the crowded streets of Viria’s capital, fear snapping at his heels. His steps were uncertain, and he fell once or twice, scraping his hands, his knees, his head.
A few times he considered grabbing at a shoulder or two, begging for help, but the words shriveled in his throat, formless and lifeless on his tongue.
Sweating, stumbling, Luka scanned the streets, lifting his focus high above the swirling cloaks and blurring faces. His desperate eyes traced the letters of the shops, squinted hard at the pictures until...
The prince fought not to whoop for joy. Just ahead, a sign—a blessed apothecary’s sign—swung in the autumn breeze, waving like an ally’s banner on the battlefield.
Relieved, wanting to sob, Luka promised himself a rest. A moment. Just one.
His head swam.
Breath coming in pained wheezes, Luka slid into the dingy mouth of an alleyway, sucking down air as he clutched his chest. In the street, distant murmurs of uncertainty snaked through the townsfolk, murmurs of a prince gone missing.
Luka wanted to laugh, but found he couldn’t.
Blythe emerged shy and stunning, the dawning sun behind a tree. Her veiled hair captured the fiery light of morning, drank it down till it was aflame. Even beneath the sheer swathe of fabric, her ruddy cheeks and pale brow showed her to be beauty incarnate, a rapturous feast for the eyes.
Luka’s breath seized in his throat.
He blinked.
He smiled.
Blythe approached, floating towards him like a wayward cloud. Perhaps he was meant to bend down, whisper in her ear how magnificent, how breathtaking, how blithesome she looked.
But Luka found his tongue tied and heart fluttering, ardor and anxiety intertwining in his stomach like lovers, twisting up his insides.
The prince offered his arm. Blythe, smiling herself, took it.
Cheers erupted behind them, drowning the fear in his breast, choking the anxiety pulling at his ankles.
“Shall we?” he asked, guiding her forward. Her skin was silk beneath his calluses, soft as…
Luka paused. He blinked, phantom fingertips brushing his cheek. An icy finger slipped down his spine, sending him shivering. Luka, afraid Blythe might notice, glared at the wind swirling the leaves.
Then the double doors opened, hinges groaning as they swung wide and heavy.
Trepidation thumped his heart hard against his chest. Slowly, Luka led them into the cathedral’s inner shadows, arm in arm with his bride.
Something — no, someone — stopped their inexorable path.
“A word please, my prince,” said Lord Ashdew, approaching the monarch with dismay written bold across his face.
Swallowing, Luka released Blythe, giving her hand a meaningful squeeze.
“Not now.” He slid before her, hand resting on hilt. His palms were slick with sweat. “Later, perhaps.” Luka swallowed, swiped at the perspiration on his forehead.
Ashdew paled, gaze darting at Luka’s fingers. “My prince, it cannot wait. It is your mother.” He glanced around, eyes large. “She is…”
Luka’s mouth turned desert dry as his gaze followed Ashdew’s, scanning the dais, the seats, the standing crowd.
The queen regent was missing.
The violins screeched to a halt, their music dying in the rafters.
Luka nodded. “One moment, my bride.” Bowing, trembling, he bent down and pressed a featherlight kiss against the back of Blythe’s hand, giving her a winsome smile. “I will return.”
Amidst suffocating silence, Ashdew led the prince out of the cathedral, away towards the broad entryway of the castle. Luka faltered here and there, falling behind, coughing the dust from his throat, glancing back towards the bride he’d left at the altar.
Every time, Ashdew was there to bolster his strength, to help urge him on.
As they climbed the stairs to the queen’s bedchambers, Ashdew glanced at a choking Luka, managed a concerned double-take. “My prince, you don’t look well.”
Reluctant, Luka nodded, fever spotting his cheeks red. “Weight of the crown is all.”
Ashdew didn't look convinced. “Perhaps a rest and a drink of water?” He led the prince towards an abandoned sitting room, steered the monarch into a chair.
“Thank you,” Luka answered, hands shaking as he reclined on a chaise, swiping the damp strands from his forehead. His pulse rabbited in his neck, pounded at his skull.
Lord Ashdew left, closing the door behind him.
A click echoed into the still quiet. A small, gentle click.
Brows knitting, Luka bolted upright. Heart hammering, he shuffled to the door.
He tried the handle. Frowned. Tried it once more.
“Shit,” Luka murmured, horror spiking through him. Without further contemplation, he pounded on the wood, yelling and screaming for help.
He didn’t know how long he pleaded, how long he begged for help. His voice grew hoarse. His knuckles bruised.
But soon the sound of indistinct swearing slipped through the crack beneath the door, and Edwin Tarrin burst into the chamber, glowering into the dim and dusty shadows.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, looking his prince over. “Why aren’t you getting married?”
Luka shrugged, swallowing bile and terror. “I think…” He shook his head, struggled to gulp down a breath. “I think someone has poisoned me.”
Tarrin swore, tugging the prince by the arm and hauling him into a disused corridor, calling to one servant, then another.
Heart racing, thoughts rushing, Luka missed the details. Hallways writhed and twisted like snakes in his mind, running together in ways he knew he should recognize, but didn’t.
“Blythe,” he murmured, an irrational dread slurring his words. “The wedding…”
“Hang the wedding.” Tarrin huffed an irritated growl, stuffed a cloak into the prince’s arms, and shoved him forward.
Moments later, Luka was being rushed out of the castle, his cloak doing little to disguise his face or keep the bitter drafts from biting at his nose, from chilling his feverish skin.
The clank of armored boots on stone rang behind them, and Luka groaned without even glancing back.
“Go!” Tarrin yelled at the prince, unsheathing his sword. The bare steel winked in the midday sun. “GO!”
Feet slipping beneath him, Luka ducked through the next door, tripped down crumbling steps. Shadows danced at the corners of his eyes, swirling in sickening, writhing curls. He waited for the swing of a sword at his back, felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Yet nothing came. Nothing.
Gasping for air, Luka shouldered open the door at the end of the staircase, throwing his weight against it three times before it finally, finally gave.
The prince spilled into a bustling, sunlit street. The roadway was packed with peasants, food carts, curios and trinkets, stuffed to the brim with promise. Luka sighed, hope burgeoning in his stomach. Blinking, he searched the area, desperate for...
“Apothecary,” he breathed, chest burning, throat searing, but his voice wouldn’t come, the air gone from his lungs.
Chest heaving, the prince stumbled into the crowded streets of Viria’s capital, fear snapping at his heels. His steps were uncertain, and he fell once or twice, scraping his hands, his knees, his head.
A few times he considered grabbing at a shoulder or two, begging for help, but the words shriveled in his throat, formless and lifeless on his tongue.
Sweating, stumbling, Luka scanned the streets, lifting his focus high above the swirling cloaks and blurring faces. His desperate eyes traced the letters of the shops, squinted hard at the pictures until...
The prince fought not to whoop for joy. Just ahead, a sign—a blessed apothecary’s sign—swung in the autumn breeze, waving like an ally’s banner on the battlefield.
Relieved, wanting to sob, Luka promised himself a rest. A moment. Just one.
His head swam.
Breath coming in pained wheezes, Luka slid into the dingy mouth of an alleyway, sucking down air as he clutched his chest. In the street, distant murmurs of uncertainty snaked through the townsfolk, murmurs of a prince gone missing.
Luka wanted to laugh, but found he couldn’t.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
The scene painted before the bride and groom was not one of celebration and mirth, as it had promised only moments before. The entirety of the chapel, in all its colour and glorious beauty, seemed to dim down and darken as though a shroud had fallen down to block their sight. Despite the silence, the tension within the tall room was apparent within every gaze that attentively watched the disturbance unfold before them on such a holy day.
Blythe swallowed. The excitement and thrill from earlier was now gone, and she felt her blood drain and pool at her feet. “The Queen?” she murmured, looking to Prince Luka for the slightest bit of hint at what was, in fact, happening. Instead, she was met with a similar confusion, an amalgam of terror and dread which now passed unto her like the bolt of a crossbow piercing through the both of them.
The warmth of her husband’s hand around her turned to a scourging chill, and Blythe watched with an aching heart as the man she was to marry on that day dashed from her reach and followed Lord Ashdew through the same doors that had lead them inside the Chapel only moments before. Behind her, Lord Brion’s proud simper had faded, and the corners of his lips had turned downward, sickened and expecting the worst.
For a few moments, the entirety of the room preserved the silence. The bride stood in the middle of it, between the two rows of people gathered to witness the event. She could not push herself to move from that place, and as the rumbling and quiet chatter emerged, Blythe could no longer pull her eyes up from the ground. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, cold and stern, and an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind a helmet.
“My Lady... We have to get you to safety until further orders.”
My Lady. It rung strange in her ear, after so much time she had spent convincing herself that, from that day on, she would be called Queen. Blythe looked up to the soldier and his grip only tightened on her shoulder as she refused to move from her place.
“Safety,” Lord Cairn murmured. “You mean that the Chapel is no longer safe? On the holy day of a royal wedding?!” He was growing impatient, but not straying far from his calm person. The woman gulped and clenched her fists in an attempt to calm her nerves for a moment, before she lifted her chin up high and offered the soldier a nod.
“We will do as Lord Ashdew deems smart in this situation. If the Queen is unwell on this day, Gods know what could happen to the rest of us. We cannot lose our faith in the Lords and soldiers protecting King’s Cliff.”
Cheers erupted around her life a storm, loud and spreading in a shared echo from one corner of the city square to the other.
Until they didn’t.
The same light that had graced over Lady Blythe’s cheek now played atop of a dark bush of hair, disheveled and dampened with sweat. The sight of Prince Taivell seemed to cut the tongues of those waiting for the news of the newly -wed royals outside the Chapel walls, rapacious and eager to meet the next pair of rulers they would spit on behind their back. Edrei’s own gaze followed, fighting to swim through the blinding light to make out the words on their lips, to spot some sense for the abrupt interruption.
Enough minutes poured from the moment the Prince’s head disappeared from her view, and even then, the crowd did not dare dissipate, waiting. The cape on her shoulders did little to offer privacy of space in the tumultuous waves of commoners, merchants, whores and children all fighting for a better view of the... odd nothingness.
‘Sometimes, death does not resort to bodily harm... It is up to you to pick it apart.’
Edrei’s legs lead her through the restless rabble, her gaze desperately scrutinizing her surroundings for a faster way out. Her shoulders ached from bumping into arms and torsos, and she felt a dozen breaths on her cheek, tepid and sickening, far too close for her liking. The dark scene of her vision played before her eyes like a vivid dream, and even then, she could see the Prince’s eyes staring back at her, empty and lifeless. Raella’s own words rung like an old, endlessly ticking clock, almost having lost their sense, and the more she fought to mute the thoughts, the louder they became by the second.
The streets outside the range of the Chapel were almost entirely empty. Few had stayed by their stalls, guarding their produce from the children who were more interested in stealing than watching the royal disaster unfold. The air whispered as she passed corners and stands in the narrow streets; her feet did not hurt, or perhaps she could not feel anything but the dizzying voices in her mind. Raella’s clock was ticking faster and louder with each moment she spent deciding which way to turn through the dismal alleyways of the Capital.
Relief washed over her at the sight of a pale, mellow shape leaning flaccidly against a wall. Then, the momentary solace was replaced by dread.
Edrei did not bother to look for any confirmation beneath the dark hood before she dashed towards the man like a hungry beast. Her hands cupped his cheeks and urged his head straight, so she could look into his eyes. She could see his chest tremble with every heartbeat beneath the thin shirt only partly covered by the ceremonial coat, and every breath sent her stray hairs dancing behind her head.
“The augury... What happened to you?” She would not have thought she would be capable of ever speaking in such a tone. Her blood was boiling with impatience, as though selfishly seeking reassurance that she had been right. Then, as a droplet of sweat came dripping from his temple on her fingers, she felt her own heart skip a beat.
“Arsenic...”
Blythe swallowed. The excitement and thrill from earlier was now gone, and she felt her blood drain and pool at her feet. “The Queen?” she murmured, looking to Prince Luka for the slightest bit of hint at what was, in fact, happening. Instead, she was met with a similar confusion, an amalgam of terror and dread which now passed unto her like the bolt of a crossbow piercing through the both of them.
The warmth of her husband’s hand around her turned to a scourging chill, and Blythe watched with an aching heart as the man she was to marry on that day dashed from her reach and followed Lord Ashdew through the same doors that had lead them inside the Chapel only moments before. Behind her, Lord Brion’s proud simper had faded, and the corners of his lips had turned downward, sickened and expecting the worst.
For a few moments, the entirety of the room preserved the silence. The bride stood in the middle of it, between the two rows of people gathered to witness the event. She could not push herself to move from that place, and as the rumbling and quiet chatter emerged, Blythe could no longer pull her eyes up from the ground. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, cold and stern, and an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind a helmet.
“My Lady... We have to get you to safety until further orders.”
My Lady. It rung strange in her ear, after so much time she had spent convincing herself that, from that day on, she would be called Queen. Blythe looked up to the soldier and his grip only tightened on her shoulder as she refused to move from her place.
“Safety,” Lord Cairn murmured. “You mean that the Chapel is no longer safe? On the holy day of a royal wedding?!” He was growing impatient, but not straying far from his calm person. The woman gulped and clenched her fists in an attempt to calm her nerves for a moment, before she lifted her chin up high and offered the soldier a nod.
“We will do as Lord Ashdew deems smart in this situation. If the Queen is unwell on this day, Gods know what could happen to the rest of us. We cannot lose our faith in the Lords and soldiers protecting King’s Cliff.”
✦
Cheers erupted around her life a storm, loud and spreading in a shared echo from one corner of the city square to the other.
Until they didn’t.
The same light that had graced over Lady Blythe’s cheek now played atop of a dark bush of hair, disheveled and dampened with sweat. The sight of Prince Taivell seemed to cut the tongues of those waiting for the news of the newly -wed royals outside the Chapel walls, rapacious and eager to meet the next pair of rulers they would spit on behind their back. Edrei’s own gaze followed, fighting to swim through the blinding light to make out the words on their lips, to spot some sense for the abrupt interruption.
Enough minutes poured from the moment the Prince’s head disappeared from her view, and even then, the crowd did not dare dissipate, waiting. The cape on her shoulders did little to offer privacy of space in the tumultuous waves of commoners, merchants, whores and children all fighting for a better view of the... odd nothingness.
‘Sometimes, death does not resort to bodily harm... It is up to you to pick it apart.’
Edrei’s legs lead her through the restless rabble, her gaze desperately scrutinizing her surroundings for a faster way out. Her shoulders ached from bumping into arms and torsos, and she felt a dozen breaths on her cheek, tepid and sickening, far too close for her liking. The dark scene of her vision played before her eyes like a vivid dream, and even then, she could see the Prince’s eyes staring back at her, empty and lifeless. Raella’s own words rung like an old, endlessly ticking clock, almost having lost their sense, and the more she fought to mute the thoughts, the louder they became by the second.
The streets outside the range of the Chapel were almost entirely empty. Few had stayed by their stalls, guarding their produce from the children who were more interested in stealing than watching the royal disaster unfold. The air whispered as she passed corners and stands in the narrow streets; her feet did not hurt, or perhaps she could not feel anything but the dizzying voices in her mind. Raella’s clock was ticking faster and louder with each moment she spent deciding which way to turn through the dismal alleyways of the Capital.
Relief washed over her at the sight of a pale, mellow shape leaning flaccidly against a wall. Then, the momentary solace was replaced by dread.
Edrei did not bother to look for any confirmation beneath the dark hood before she dashed towards the man like a hungry beast. Her hands cupped his cheeks and urged his head straight, so she could look into his eyes. She could see his chest tremble with every heartbeat beneath the thin shirt only partly covered by the ceremonial coat, and every breath sent her stray hairs dancing behind her head.
“The augury... What happened to you?” She would not have thought she would be capable of ever speaking in such a tone. Her blood was boiling with impatience, as though selfishly seeking reassurance that she had been right. Then, as a droplet of sweat came dripping from his temple on her fingers, she felt her own heart skip a beat.
“Arsenic...”
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Luka stared.
The apparition before him stood apple-cheeked and dazzling in the sun. Hair floating on the breeze, haunted eyes gleaming like twin stars, Death was gorgeous. Her hands had lifted his face, locked his focus onto the angular cut of her cheekbones, the gentle swoop of her nose, the familiar duskiness of those eyelashes...
He frowned.
Then, just as his mind began to piece the puzzle together, she demanded answers.
Demanded them.
Luka’s frown deepened. “I’m…dying,” he said, the incredulous words punctuated by long, labored breaths. He searched her expression once more, wondering at the familiar tilt of her chin, the stirring purse of her lips…
“You,” he breathed, eyes widening in recognition. “You… y-you…”
His eyes fluttered closed, lips trembling with terror. Blood drained from his face. The realization that this was the woman who had foretold his death last night sucked all hope from his chest.
Luka’s brow knitted in pain, in fear, in determination.
His eyelids flew open.
“Help me,” he ordered, but when he heard his own voice, the words trembled. The prince swallowed thickly, trying to catch her gaze, desperate to meet her eyes.
“Please, Edrei,” Luka pleaded, reaching up to grasp her hand. His fingertips trembled, his pulse jumped, but his grip was firm and strong and certain.
The apparition before him stood apple-cheeked and dazzling in the sun. Hair floating on the breeze, haunted eyes gleaming like twin stars, Death was gorgeous. Her hands had lifted his face, locked his focus onto the angular cut of her cheekbones, the gentle swoop of her nose, the familiar duskiness of those eyelashes...
He frowned.
Then, just as his mind began to piece the puzzle together, she demanded answers.
Demanded them.
Luka’s frown deepened. “I’m…dying,” he said, the incredulous words punctuated by long, labored breaths. He searched her expression once more, wondering at the familiar tilt of her chin, the stirring purse of her lips…
“You,” he breathed, eyes widening in recognition. “You… y-you…”
His eyes fluttered closed, lips trembling with terror. Blood drained from his face. The realization that this was the woman who had foretold his death last night sucked all hope from his chest.
Luka’s brow knitted in pain, in fear, in determination.
His eyelids flew open.
“Help me,” he ordered, but when he heard his own voice, the words trembled. The prince swallowed thickly, trying to catch her gaze, desperate to meet her eyes.
“Please, Edrei,” Luka pleaded, reaching up to grasp her hand. His fingertips trembled, his pulse jumped, but his grip was firm and strong and certain.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
The pair of eyes that looked back at her were tainted by death. Edrei’s fingertips touched cold flesh, damp and sickly, the vivid painting of a soul fighting to leave its carcass, all whilst her mind desperately sought answers to the questions arising one by one, like flames rising taller and more uncontrollable by the second.
His plea for help only encumbered Edrei’s shoulders even more. There it was, the fate of the future of Viria in her hands, something her mother had failed to prepare her for. The memories of the night of her vision played in her mind like wildfire, and deep in her mind, only then she began to make some sense of what she had truly seen.
“Stay here,” she ordered him in one shaken breath, then slid her hand from beneath his and disappeared around the corner.
She did not look back to see if he was intending to listen to her words. Frankly, a part of her hoped that he would not be there when she returned. The weight of one’s life was more than she could endure, but she knew that the sight of death itself etched in the Prince’s gaze would haunt her dreams for long enough to make her regret such selfish decision.
There was no true cure for a bane such as arsenic. Edrei had spent enough time around such poisons, and as she stepped over the threshold leading into the apothecary, her mind desperately sought a solution.
The shop was empty at the time, lacking even as much as a vendor by the looks of it. Potent scents merged into one strong odor that stung the inside of Edrei’s nose and throat, floating around the hundreds of vials and tall glass bottles carefully arranged over shelves behind the counter. As she approached it with loud creaks against the parquetry, a pale, time-bitten head popped from behind the back door, and it was soon accompanied by a body meticulously wrapped in gloves and aprons to cover every inch of skin up to the flaccid skin of his neck.
“May I-“
“Milk,” the woman uttered, loud and clear against the stark silence. “Cow’s milk. I know you have it... And water.”
The old man waited, almost seemingly trying to decipher a hidden message behind the girl’s voice. His eyes scoured her from head to toes, tracing over the curves beneath the revealing dress. “Decided you, in fact, liked your client?” he teased and cocked a brow. “You might have made a mistake greater than your chances of undoing it.”
Edrei gulped. She had no intention of correcting his assumption, and certainly no time to bother with bitterly disguised insults. Her green gaze remained locked on him, silent and expectant, and eventually, the vendor decided to turn around and carefully seek out what was demanded of him in the back. When he returned, Edrei took a bold step towards the counter and quickly analysed the two small flasks of liquid the man placed before her.
“This?” she protested through her teeth. “There’s... Barely a couple of gulps in there!”
“Plenty. They are likely useless to you anyway.” The pair of black eyes followed her expression turn sour as she flicked her wrist and dropped one of her bracelets on the counter by the vials. In return, she wrested the two bottles from the man’s reach and disappeared through the main entrance with the same fire, careless of whether the payment of silver had been enough.
When her sight fell on the deathly pale silhouette leaning against the wall in the narrow alleyway, Edrei popped the bottles open and pressed them to the Prince’s chest. It seemed to be heaving even more then, barely containing the wild heartbeat drumming endlessly through his shirt. “Drink,” she urged, as if he needed a hint on how to save his own life. The words of the vendor echoed in her ears, and she wanted to believe that he was wrong. In the agitation now forming in the streets, perhaps death by poison was his best option.
His plea for help only encumbered Edrei’s shoulders even more. There it was, the fate of the future of Viria in her hands, something her mother had failed to prepare her for. The memories of the night of her vision played in her mind like wildfire, and deep in her mind, only then she began to make some sense of what she had truly seen.
“Stay here,” she ordered him in one shaken breath, then slid her hand from beneath his and disappeared around the corner.
She did not look back to see if he was intending to listen to her words. Frankly, a part of her hoped that he would not be there when she returned. The weight of one’s life was more than she could endure, but she knew that the sight of death itself etched in the Prince’s gaze would haunt her dreams for long enough to make her regret such selfish decision.
There was no true cure for a bane such as arsenic. Edrei had spent enough time around such poisons, and as she stepped over the threshold leading into the apothecary, her mind desperately sought a solution.
The shop was empty at the time, lacking even as much as a vendor by the looks of it. Potent scents merged into one strong odor that stung the inside of Edrei’s nose and throat, floating around the hundreds of vials and tall glass bottles carefully arranged over shelves behind the counter. As she approached it with loud creaks against the parquetry, a pale, time-bitten head popped from behind the back door, and it was soon accompanied by a body meticulously wrapped in gloves and aprons to cover every inch of skin up to the flaccid skin of his neck.
“May I-“
“Milk,” the woman uttered, loud and clear against the stark silence. “Cow’s milk. I know you have it... And water.”
The old man waited, almost seemingly trying to decipher a hidden message behind the girl’s voice. His eyes scoured her from head to toes, tracing over the curves beneath the revealing dress. “Decided you, in fact, liked your client?” he teased and cocked a brow. “You might have made a mistake greater than your chances of undoing it.”
Edrei gulped. She had no intention of correcting his assumption, and certainly no time to bother with bitterly disguised insults. Her green gaze remained locked on him, silent and expectant, and eventually, the vendor decided to turn around and carefully seek out what was demanded of him in the back. When he returned, Edrei took a bold step towards the counter and quickly analysed the two small flasks of liquid the man placed before her.
“This?” she protested through her teeth. “There’s... Barely a couple of gulps in there!”
“Plenty. They are likely useless to you anyway.” The pair of black eyes followed her expression turn sour as she flicked her wrist and dropped one of her bracelets on the counter by the vials. In return, she wrested the two bottles from the man’s reach and disappeared through the main entrance with the same fire, careless of whether the payment of silver had been enough.
When her sight fell on the deathly pale silhouette leaning against the wall in the narrow alleyway, Edrei popped the bottles open and pressed them to the Prince’s chest. It seemed to be heaving even more then, barely containing the wild heartbeat drumming endlessly through his shirt. “Drink,” she urged, as if he needed a hint on how to save his own life. The words of the vendor echoed in her ears, and she wanted to believe that he was wrong. In the agitation now forming in the streets, perhaps death by poison was his best option.
Fear spiked his pulse, set his outstretched hand shaking.
“No,” Luka begged, reaching frantically to return Edrei’s touch. His face, bereft of her fiery warmth, felt cold and clammy and corpselike.
But she didn’t listen. In a moment’s breadth Edrei was gone, sank deep into the river of people, engulfed by the waves of confusion and discontent.
Luka blinked his own befuddlement, blinked at the stars dashed across his vision.
And he watched.
And he waited.
His lower lip trembled. Visions of Edrei returning with a knife and plunging into his heart sent stabs of pain shuddering through his chest — or...or was it the other way around? Did his pain inspire the hallucinations, invoking the rage he glimpsed beneath her fluttering lashes?
Then he saw her.
“Oh, gods.” An errant tear slipped down his cheek when he spotted Edrei’s return, a flurry of fabric and a serious pace marking her as his savior. Twin flasks nestled in her cloak, and Luka sat up, anxious to meet the fevered emerald of her gaze.
She ordered him to drink.
For a stuttering heartbeat, he stared, the sharp tone as striking as an anvil on steel.
Nodding, Luka coughed down the contents of the bottle, throwing them back hard. His weak fingers let the flasks clatter emptily onto the cobbles below. Graceless and grim, the prince swiped clumsily at his lips.
“Milk?” he asked ponderingly, frowning at the empty containers, listening to the heated thrum of his pulse in his ear, listening to the death rattle hiss of his breath in his lungs.
Scared. Prince Lukens Taivell was scared.
“Don’t leave me again, please,” he whispered, terror mixing bittersweet with a euphoric sense of wonder at her unlikely presence. An anxious hand searched for hers, struggling to clasp her fingers. They were soft, satiny, silken. Her skin was smooth, unmarred by calluses or wrinkles, pale as ghosts, as sheets, as...
Puffing out his exhaustion, Luka stretched out supine into the street, staring up into the dazzling blue sky. His eyelids fluttered closed, his focus narrowed to the hiss of his sighs and the rhythm of pain against his skull.
But determination had him wrenching his eyelids back open, had him groaning himself back up to a sit.
“Will you…” He swallowed, tears pricking at his eyes, tongues of flame licking at his throat. “Will you...help me...stand?”
“No,” Luka begged, reaching frantically to return Edrei’s touch. His face, bereft of her fiery warmth, felt cold and clammy and corpselike.
But she didn’t listen. In a moment’s breadth Edrei was gone, sank deep into the river of people, engulfed by the waves of confusion and discontent.
Luka blinked his own befuddlement, blinked at the stars dashed across his vision.
And he watched.
And he waited.
His lower lip trembled. Visions of Edrei returning with a knife and plunging into his heart sent stabs of pain shuddering through his chest — or...or was it the other way around? Did his pain inspire the hallucinations, invoking the rage he glimpsed beneath her fluttering lashes?
Then he saw her.
“Oh, gods.” An errant tear slipped down his cheek when he spotted Edrei’s return, a flurry of fabric and a serious pace marking her as his savior. Twin flasks nestled in her cloak, and Luka sat up, anxious to meet the fevered emerald of her gaze.
She ordered him to drink.
For a stuttering heartbeat, he stared, the sharp tone as striking as an anvil on steel.
Nodding, Luka coughed down the contents of the bottle, throwing them back hard. His weak fingers let the flasks clatter emptily onto the cobbles below. Graceless and grim, the prince swiped clumsily at his lips.
“Milk?” he asked ponderingly, frowning at the empty containers, listening to the heated thrum of his pulse in his ear, listening to the death rattle hiss of his breath in his lungs.
Scared. Prince Lukens Taivell was scared.
“Don’t leave me again, please,” he whispered, terror mixing bittersweet with a euphoric sense of wonder at her unlikely presence. An anxious hand searched for hers, struggling to clasp her fingers. They were soft, satiny, silken. Her skin was smooth, unmarred by calluses or wrinkles, pale as ghosts, as sheets, as...
Puffing out his exhaustion, Luka stretched out supine into the street, staring up into the dazzling blue sky. His eyelids fluttered closed, his focus narrowed to the hiss of his sighs and the rhythm of pain against his skull.
But determination had him wrenching his eyelids back open, had him groaning himself back up to a sit.
“Will you…” He swallowed, tears pricking at his eyes, tongues of flame licking at his throat. “Will you...help me...stand?”
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
To a degree, Edrei was relieved that the Prince had taken the order without any further protesting. She watched him gulp on the milk and water like a mare watching over its foal, all whilst a sense of urgency was catching ablaze within her with each passing second, each step she heard scampering on the pavement of the main alleyway, each voice seeming to approach them as it floated over the sea of people at long last returning to their routine duties.
Then, for a moment, the time around the two of them appeared to stay still. It was strange to see a man of his status terrified for his life and gripping at it with pale, slender fingers. A part within her felt pity at the young boy never having felt the pang of true fear. Another provoked ire, at the thought of he who had made the decision to steal a life on that day.
It was almost impossible to pick apart the tinder which had kindled her fire. Her feelings mixed into a poisonous amalgam playing at the base of her throat like bitter bile.
A tepid hand clasped hers, sending shivers up her limb and spine, and Edrei finally found the will to pull herself back into the moment. “We have to go,” she spoke urgently and, gripping his hand with her other as well, she pulled him up and offered him her shoulder. “You have to move,” she encouraged, although her voice seemed more shaken than confident in her plan.
Her eyes watched frantically as the city around them moved like a river pearling through each alley and path breaking away from the main road which lead towards the Chapel. The cloak covering their faces did little to take away from their suspicious appearance. Edrei’s feet lead them somewhat steadily back through the mouth of the side road by the apothecary and followed the great wall surrounding the city, glimmering way above the roofs.
“I have thought this through,” she breathed as she tugged on to him. The farther away they got from the central square, the heavier the Prince’s weight seemed to grow over her shoulder. “Not well, but I did think of it. I do not know what part of you made me want to do this.”
She was unsure whether she regretted it, but she had dived too far into his trouble to even attempt to swim back up. If they had been seen, they had been seen together, and she would likely become as much a target as he was for the man who had sought to take his life.
Eventually, the alley lead them into an impasse blocked by tall walls echoing with the murmur of the sea somewhere close behind a narrow sewer grate overlooking the beach. From that point, Edrei could see the window of her room, stained red by the tall curtains draped closed. Her gaze flickered back to the Prince – or whatever gentility had been left of him – and with a quick reach, she kicked grate to the side and bent down to reach the opening leading down a rocky valley.
“You go first,” she encouraged. “I will be right behind.”
Then, for a moment, the time around the two of them appeared to stay still. It was strange to see a man of his status terrified for his life and gripping at it with pale, slender fingers. A part within her felt pity at the young boy never having felt the pang of true fear. Another provoked ire, at the thought of he who had made the decision to steal a life on that day.
It was almost impossible to pick apart the tinder which had kindled her fire. Her feelings mixed into a poisonous amalgam playing at the base of her throat like bitter bile.
A tepid hand clasped hers, sending shivers up her limb and spine, and Edrei finally found the will to pull herself back into the moment. “We have to go,” she spoke urgently and, gripping his hand with her other as well, she pulled him up and offered him her shoulder. “You have to move,” she encouraged, although her voice seemed more shaken than confident in her plan.
Her eyes watched frantically as the city around them moved like a river pearling through each alley and path breaking away from the main road which lead towards the Chapel. The cloak covering their faces did little to take away from their suspicious appearance. Edrei’s feet lead them somewhat steadily back through the mouth of the side road by the apothecary and followed the great wall surrounding the city, glimmering way above the roofs.
“I have thought this through,” she breathed as she tugged on to him. The farther away they got from the central square, the heavier the Prince’s weight seemed to grow over her shoulder. “Not well, but I did think of it. I do not know what part of you made me want to do this.”
She was unsure whether she regretted it, but she had dived too far into his trouble to even attempt to swim back up. If they had been seen, they had been seen together, and she would likely become as much a target as he was for the man who had sought to take his life.
Eventually, the alley lead them into an impasse blocked by tall walls echoing with the murmur of the sea somewhere close behind a narrow sewer grate overlooking the beach. From that point, Edrei could see the window of her room, stained red by the tall curtains draped closed. Her gaze flickered back to the Prince – or whatever gentility had been left of him – and with a quick reach, she kicked grate to the side and bent down to reach the opening leading down a rocky valley.
“You go first,” she encouraged. “I will be right behind.”
Edrei smelled of flowers. Lavender? Rosewater? That same olfactory ghost of her had lingered on his bedsheets long after she left, flooding his dreams with sinuous curves and ardent gazes.
But now the floral scent sat beside him colored with mercy. Luka clung to her as if she was a talisman, a ward against death. Although she’d been the person to prophesy his demise, everything in her now was hard-won compassion and grim determination.
He blinked at her a few times, squinting in search for the scarlet seductress he’d turned away last night.
He couldn’t find her. This Edrei was steel, fire in her eyes and resolve in her grasp. It didn't matter what her words implied. Luka scrounged up the rest of his pride to take offense at her confusion, but turning out the pockets of his emotions showed them empty of umbrage.
She half-led, half-dragged him to a concealed passageway, indicating that he should go first.
Breathless, Luka couldn’t whistle in appreciation, but he nodded in acknowledgement, giving her hand one final squeeze before reluctantly releasing her.
He had to stoop to limp through, knocking elbows and knees against rough edges and pausing here and there, blinking stars from his vision. In desperation he listened for her footsteps behind her, hoping they weren't echoes of his own.
He panted. He heaved. He struggled.
Light spilled from an opening at the end, a shock of blue sky and sparkling sea.
Breathing a prayer of thanks, Luka stumbled into heaven. He gasped at the crisp ocean breeze and the lulling, whispered hush of the waves lapping on the shore. Gulls screamed above them, circling in pursuit of an unattended fisherman’s boat.
“Gods.” His stomach roiled with the odor of brine and half-dried fish. He vomited his breakfast onto the rocky sand, sending a family of crabs scuttling aside to seek other shelter.
Luka waited until he thought he heard Edrei emerge from the tunnel before he spoke.
“Are your visions... always right?” he asked, pulse quickening. “Just... curious.” The prince gave her what he meant to be a winsome smile, not realizing it appeared as a grimace.
But now the floral scent sat beside him colored with mercy. Luka clung to her as if she was a talisman, a ward against death. Although she’d been the person to prophesy his demise, everything in her now was hard-won compassion and grim determination.
He blinked at her a few times, squinting in search for the scarlet seductress he’d turned away last night.
He couldn’t find her. This Edrei was steel, fire in her eyes and resolve in her grasp. It didn't matter what her words implied. Luka scrounged up the rest of his pride to take offense at her confusion, but turning out the pockets of his emotions showed them empty of umbrage.
She half-led, half-dragged him to a concealed passageway, indicating that he should go first.
Breathless, Luka couldn’t whistle in appreciation, but he nodded in acknowledgement, giving her hand one final squeeze before reluctantly releasing her.
He had to stoop to limp through, knocking elbows and knees against rough edges and pausing here and there, blinking stars from his vision. In desperation he listened for her footsteps behind her, hoping they weren't echoes of his own.
He panted. He heaved. He struggled.
Light spilled from an opening at the end, a shock of blue sky and sparkling sea.
Breathing a prayer of thanks, Luka stumbled into heaven. He gasped at the crisp ocean breeze and the lulling, whispered hush of the waves lapping on the shore. Gulls screamed above them, circling in pursuit of an unattended fisherman’s boat.
“Gods.” His stomach roiled with the odor of brine and half-dried fish. He vomited his breakfast onto the rocky sand, sending a family of crabs scuttling aside to seek other shelter.
Luka waited until he thought he heard Edrei emerge from the tunnel before he spoke.
“Are your visions... always right?” he asked, pulse quickening. “Just... curious.” The prince gave her what he meant to be a winsome smile, not realizing it appeared as a grimace.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
Edrei thought she had seen misery, until that day.
The sight of the Prince curling and struggling to regain his senses was as deserving of pity as any dying child in the streets he was to rule over. The pallor of his face was telling of his condition, cementing the memory of what the apothecary vendor had told her earlier that day. ‘They are likely useless to you anyway.’ His voice still rung vividly in her head, sickened her. She did not wish to think what she would do if the Prince died in her arms outside the city walls.
She had crawled through the hole in the wall quite easily. After having done it so many times over the years, it almost gave her a sense of safety, hinting at the joy of her earlier youth. Joy, or anything that was opposed to whatever dread she was feeling then. That day, the sea was not of the same azure blue, the sky seemed cold and menacing, and the breeze did not carry the warm perfume of sand and salt-water.
It took a couple of careful steps to reach the beach over the rocky stone rimming the Capital. Edrei watched the Prince fall to his knees and spill his insides, washed over by a brief relief. His orbs were glazed and his lips dry and pale. ‘Too soon,’ she thought to herself then, but could only hope that he had not spilled quite everything. Worry ate at her like a bug and she could not help but paint the most gruesome of scenes in her mind.
“Most of them,” she murmured as she approached him. Her lips were pursed and twisted, and her teeth gritted as she tried to look away. “But usually, they show me... less.”
Nothing had come quite as close to the weight of the augury she had given the Prince before his coronation. Nothing had left her with such a hole in her heart and a scar on her mind which not even her mother, Raella, had been able to fill.
A muffled puff emerging from her left let her know there was no time to loiter on the warm sand. The horse she had pinned to the ground by the reins had, thankfully, not made an untimely escape in anticipation of its baleful journey. Edrei’s eyes flickered over to the tall creature, then to the smaller one fighting for clear air by her feet. “It will carry the both of us. It carried my mother and I about the city many times.”
Her attempt at easing the last of his worries was futile, but she could not promise him a lie. It was their only chance of disappearing before the guards thought to search outside the walls, and considering the tracks they had left behind them, she doubted it would take longer than one turn of the clock or two.
The veiled sibyl extended a trembling hand to him, watchful but growing more tense by the minute. If he took it, if the Gods put the will within him to take one more step, she would lead the two of to, perchance, his safety and her own bane.
The sight of the Prince curling and struggling to regain his senses was as deserving of pity as any dying child in the streets he was to rule over. The pallor of his face was telling of his condition, cementing the memory of what the apothecary vendor had told her earlier that day. ‘They are likely useless to you anyway.’ His voice still rung vividly in her head, sickened her. She did not wish to think what she would do if the Prince died in her arms outside the city walls.
She had crawled through the hole in the wall quite easily. After having done it so many times over the years, it almost gave her a sense of safety, hinting at the joy of her earlier youth. Joy, or anything that was opposed to whatever dread she was feeling then. That day, the sea was not of the same azure blue, the sky seemed cold and menacing, and the breeze did not carry the warm perfume of sand and salt-water.
It took a couple of careful steps to reach the beach over the rocky stone rimming the Capital. Edrei watched the Prince fall to his knees and spill his insides, washed over by a brief relief. His orbs were glazed and his lips dry and pale. ‘Too soon,’ she thought to herself then, but could only hope that he had not spilled quite everything. Worry ate at her like a bug and she could not help but paint the most gruesome of scenes in her mind.
“Most of them,” she murmured as she approached him. Her lips were pursed and twisted, and her teeth gritted as she tried to look away. “But usually, they show me... less.”
Nothing had come quite as close to the weight of the augury she had given the Prince before his coronation. Nothing had left her with such a hole in her heart and a scar on her mind which not even her mother, Raella, had been able to fill.
A muffled puff emerging from her left let her know there was no time to loiter on the warm sand. The horse she had pinned to the ground by the reins had, thankfully, not made an untimely escape in anticipation of its baleful journey. Edrei’s eyes flickered over to the tall creature, then to the smaller one fighting for clear air by her feet. “It will carry the both of us. It carried my mother and I about the city many times.”
Her attempt at easing the last of his worries was futile, but she could not promise him a lie. It was their only chance of disappearing before the guards thought to search outside the walls, and considering the tracks they had left behind them, she doubted it would take longer than one turn of the clock or two.
The veiled sibyl extended a trembling hand to him, watchful but growing more tense by the minute. If he took it, if the Gods put the will within him to take one more step, she would lead the two of to, perchance, his safety and her own bane.
Concern was plain on Edrei’s pale face. Luka gave a bleak nod at her discomfiting words, her disgust and uncertainty clear and garish as a midsummer’s sky. His gaze moved to her quivering hand, wandered back up to the tight muscles of her jaw. Everything about her seemed coiled, ready to strike.
He thought, distantly, of her sinuous grace, sliding down into the silk sheets of his bed…
Luke blinked at her, mouth agape. “Right,” he said, gathering up the last of his strength to mount the horse. His grip on her hand was vice-like and unrepentant as he followed her into the saddle, doing his best not to slump against her.
His best efforts only went so far. Half a day’s ride later, the wind whistled through the trees, the churning breeze setting the branches dancing. The prince sat shuddering, clinging to Edrei and huddling in his cloak, fever high and red on his cheeks in the dying sunlight.
He requested they break. Begged. Tears sprang to his eyes, stung by the bitter chill.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her back when she pulled the horse to a halt, gratitude throbbing in his every bone.
It drove him to near frustration. Edrei barely knew him, yet she risked her life to rescue him from an agonizing death on the streets. His mind was in no shape to work through potential political schemes of hers or anyone connected to her. She was lovely, and seduction was likely an option, but…
He sighed. Then he gave a groan as he slid out of the saddle, thighs aching, knees trembling. His mouth felt dry, and all he wanted was a mug of warm, spiced cider. Irritation melded with his hurt and shame till he wanted to explode.
Luka bit down on his chattering teeth, whirled on Edrei. “W-why?” he insisted, tone sharp as steel. “Why help me? What do you want?”
But before she could answer, he shook his head. Mumbling an apology, he avoided those piercing eyes and barrelled on.
“Can we find an inn?” he asked, knowing his voice rang petulant and uncaring. His arms sat crossed over his chest, his shoulders slumped. “It’s c-cold. We need…”
He held out empty hands, coughed into his arm, then grimaced as his stomach rolled unpleasantly.
He thought, distantly, of her sinuous grace, sliding down into the silk sheets of his bed…
Luke blinked at her, mouth agape. “Right,” he said, gathering up the last of his strength to mount the horse. His grip on her hand was vice-like and unrepentant as he followed her into the saddle, doing his best not to slump against her.
✦
His best efforts only went so far. Half a day’s ride later, the wind whistled through the trees, the churning breeze setting the branches dancing. The prince sat shuddering, clinging to Edrei and huddling in his cloak, fever high and red on his cheeks in the dying sunlight.
He requested they break. Begged. Tears sprang to his eyes, stung by the bitter chill.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her back when she pulled the horse to a halt, gratitude throbbing in his every bone.
It drove him to near frustration. Edrei barely knew him, yet she risked her life to rescue him from an agonizing death on the streets. His mind was in no shape to work through potential political schemes of hers or anyone connected to her. She was lovely, and seduction was likely an option, but…
He sighed. Then he gave a groan as he slid out of the saddle, thighs aching, knees trembling. His mouth felt dry, and all he wanted was a mug of warm, spiced cider. Irritation melded with his hurt and shame till he wanted to explode.
Luka bit down on his chattering teeth, whirled on Edrei. “W-why?” he insisted, tone sharp as steel. “Why help me? What do you want?”
But before she could answer, he shook his head. Mumbling an apology, he avoided those piercing eyes and barrelled on.
“Can we find an inn?” he asked, knowing his voice rang petulant and uncaring. His arms sat crossed over his chest, his shoulders slumped. “It’s c-cold. We need…”
He held out empty hands, coughed into his arm, then grimaced as his stomach rolled unpleasantly.
peritwinkle
♠️your local Raphael♠️
The ride seemed far too long. As darkness prevailed over day, she could feel herself lose some of the fire of adrenaline she had managed to kindle through the day enough to keep herself sane and the Prince riding at least halfway straight on the back of their horse.
By the time the first stars glimmered from behind autumn clouds, Edrei’s thighs were aching and sore from riding, but she did not allow herself to fall prey to weakness, not until the man behind her called for it, begged for it in a way that made her own soul echo after him. ‘We are far enough,’ she tried to soothe her worries, and gave the road behind her shoulder one last glance before she unhinged her legs from the horse’s side.
Until then, she had not found the strength to look him in the eye. Prince Lukens Taivell was nothing more than a bag of feeble flesh and bone, pale as the moon and cold as the night. His teeth chattered emptily, and even as he muttered words, they spilled like bitter bile from his lips. Edrei watched him, listened, but did not reply. Making sense of what she had done felt like too much of an effort right then.
Her hands began to tie the reins of their mount around the tree nearest to them. They had strayed from the shore, enough that she could no longer hear the waves biting away at the stone rimming the edge of land – a sound which had once offered comfort, but now only reminded her of what she had left behind.
She wondered, briefly, if Raella knew where her daughter was. Had she seen it in her dreams? If so, why had she not tried to stop her?
Perhaps she knew the Gods ought to take something away from where they had been too generous.
The Prince’s voice echoed yet again, and Edrei met his question with a puzzled frown. “Even if you could stand to ride that far, an inn would be the first place they’d be searching for you, Your Grace,” the girl replied. With the reins secure around the trunk, she turned to the bag attached to the side of the horse and dug for a thin blanket rolled to barely fit inside. “We will have to enjoy nature for a little while.”
She knew he did not like the idea. She did not like the idea either. A dagger would not defend them from wolves, just as a thin blanket would not keep the cold from biting their fingers off.
She pulled the blanket from beneath the saddle for herself and gave the one folded up to the shivering shape near her side. “We have some bread and gold,” she thought to add, although she doubted he would want to put anything back where all had spilled earlier that day. “Half of the gold you gave me. If we ride fast, we might be able to spend the night with a roof above our heads soon.”
The night was too clear for a fire, and even if the darkness did not carry the light of flames, Edrei did not know how to kindle a spark from two rocks and a piece of tinder. She doubted a man who had never had to lift a finger in his life knew how to do that, either.
By the time the first stars glimmered from behind autumn clouds, Edrei’s thighs were aching and sore from riding, but she did not allow herself to fall prey to weakness, not until the man behind her called for it, begged for it in a way that made her own soul echo after him. ‘We are far enough,’ she tried to soothe her worries, and gave the road behind her shoulder one last glance before she unhinged her legs from the horse’s side.
Until then, she had not found the strength to look him in the eye. Prince Lukens Taivell was nothing more than a bag of feeble flesh and bone, pale as the moon and cold as the night. His teeth chattered emptily, and even as he muttered words, they spilled like bitter bile from his lips. Edrei watched him, listened, but did not reply. Making sense of what she had done felt like too much of an effort right then.
Her hands began to tie the reins of their mount around the tree nearest to them. They had strayed from the shore, enough that she could no longer hear the waves biting away at the stone rimming the edge of land – a sound which had once offered comfort, but now only reminded her of what she had left behind.
She wondered, briefly, if Raella knew where her daughter was. Had she seen it in her dreams? If so, why had she not tried to stop her?
Perhaps she knew the Gods ought to take something away from where they had been too generous.
The Prince’s voice echoed yet again, and Edrei met his question with a puzzled frown. “Even if you could stand to ride that far, an inn would be the first place they’d be searching for you, Your Grace,” the girl replied. With the reins secure around the trunk, she turned to the bag attached to the side of the horse and dug for a thin blanket rolled to barely fit inside. “We will have to enjoy nature for a little while.”
She knew he did not like the idea. She did not like the idea either. A dagger would not defend them from wolves, just as a thin blanket would not keep the cold from biting their fingers off.
She pulled the blanket from beneath the saddle for herself and gave the one folded up to the shivering shape near her side. “We have some bread and gold,” she thought to add, although she doubted he would want to put anything back where all had spilled earlier that day. “Half of the gold you gave me. If we ride fast, we might be able to spend the night with a roof above our heads soon.”
The night was too clear for a fire, and even if the darkness did not carry the light of flames, Edrei did not know how to kindle a spark from two rocks and a piece of tinder. She doubted a man who had never had to lift a finger in his life knew how to do that, either.
